


Flat Minds

by PengyChan



Series: Flat World [2]
Category: Flatland - Edwin A. Abbott, Gravity Falls
Genre: Backstory, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-06-09 11:03:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 68,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6903247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PengyChan/pseuds/PengyChan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collections of snippets that were supposed to be part of Flat Dreams, but never made it in for lots of annoyingly sensible reasons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lost Name

**Author's Note:**

> What it says on the tin - this is going to be a collection of missing moments and snippets that didn't make it to Flat Dreams. I'm also open to prompts because why not, so hey. If you have an idea for one, drop me a line!

_There is no worse blind man than the one who doesn't want to see._

* * *

She knows her son won't be hers to keep the moment she lays her eye on him for the first time.

His frame is still tender, far from hardening and settling, but even now - even as the infant cries and squirms, failing around with stumpy limbs - she can see it's not like her husband's at all. The base far wider, its length matching his other two sides. What she's looking at is not an Isosceles at all.

It's an Equilateral.

"Mephis…"

Lou's voice is low and uncertain, as always when he speaks. He is a meek man, has always been. He dares not speak what they both know, what they both see.

But she can unsee it, just for a while longer. She turns away, back to Lou. "No. It's too early to tell," she says, her voice firm despite the ache she can already feel at her very core. "Don't tell anyone just yet."

"We can't hide-"

"We're not hiding anything. We're just going to wait it out until his frame starts setting," she cuts him off. "Give me the blanket."

She wraps it around the infant, tight, and lulls him to sleep. Over the next few days, she lets no one see him with the blanket off. She tells them they're just being careful, that the child is sickly and shouldn't get cold. It is a lie, of course: far from sickly, the boy is healthy and alert and never still for long. He grows slightly bigger, slightly stronger - and remains, very clearly, an Equilateral. He's beautiful and perfect and she gets no joy from it.

He is a week old when Lou finally speaks of it again.

"... His frame is not going to change. We should get the Board to come take a look at him."

"You know what will happen if they do."

"He'll get a better life as part of the Equilateral class. They'd give him to a good family. Raise him right. It's more than what we can offer - and what if his frame changes _because_ of us?"

"They'll take him away."

"They'll do it regardless. It will be easier if that happens now. Be reasonable."

She says nothing for a few moments and just looks at the child, squirming in the crib and trying to reach for his own feet. For a moment, only a moment, she's tempted to reach for something - anything - and strike him. Not enough to kill, but enough to _maim_ , enough to shorten his lower side and make him an Isosceles like them. They wouldn't take him, then. She would get to raise her son.

But she would also take away his chance at a better life, and of course she can't do it. She closes her eye, lets out a sigh, and opens it again. The moment of madness has passed, leaving behind something else, something that lies heavy within her.

 _Be reasonable_.

"Very well," is all she finally says.

Lou pauses, and when he speaks again his voice sounds strained. "We can still have other children. We-"

"And have them taken as well should they turn out to be Equilateral, too?" she cuts him off, and he falls silent. Their gazes meet, and he's the only one to turn away first. "No. They'll take this one, and that will be it. There will be no others."

He nods in silence, and leaves the room. She takes the squirming infant in her arms and holds him close, causing him to look up at her, eye wide like he's staring the Chief Circle himself.

It is bad luck to name a baby before their first month of life, because not all of them make it to it, so her son still has no name. There is one she wanted to give him, but she keeps it for herself. Someone else will choose his name, and what she wanted to call him doesn't matter anymore. But maybe it's better this way: if you name something you get attached to it, and Circles know she's too attached already.

The infant giggles - he does it all the time, even when there is nothing at all to be happy about - and reaches up for her, only to yelp when something falls from her eye to splash on him. The name she wished to give him almost leaves her in a murmur, but it does not. She never says it aloud. The child never hears it. When they come to evaluate him the next day they see what she's been trying to unsee, and take him away. Someone else gets to name him, someone else gets to raise him.

Years pass, and there are no more children. She never forgets the boy she had to give away.

But the name she'd wanted to give him, that she does forget.

* * *

_There is no worse deaf man than the one who doesn't want to hear._

* * *

"Lou, who is it?"

The Triangle standing at their door is not someone she knows, but she instinctively mistrusts him. An Equilateral Triangle must be a merchant, and one of his kind can only be at their door to do one thing: sell. Their lack of education make them easy prey for scam hidden by big words, something the classes above them use to their advantage pretty often.

The Equilateral speaks before Lou can, tipping his hat. That, if anything, makes her even more suspicious - because that is not a gesture usually reserved to their class at all. "Bill Cipher," he says.

"Charmed," is the dry reply. "What do we owe the visit?"

"I figured it was about time I said hi."

_… What?_

She narrows her eye to take a better look, because her eyesight is beginning to fail her, and finds herself searching for something familiar in this Cipher, in the slit pupil staring right back at her with something that's not too far away from anticipation.

 _He'd stare up at her like she was the Chief Circle himself_.

Something in the back of her mind clicks, and suddenly her hands are clammy on the door's handle. All of her instincts screaming for her to close the door now, she struggles to keep her voice firm. "... Have we met?"

"Yeah, you've birthed me somewhere along the line."

It feels all the world like a blow, and Lou has to feel the same, because he recoils next to her. For one long moment, all she can do is stare as comprehension - her son is there, standing right before her - sinks in. There is an impulse, much like the one that almost drove her to maiming him so she could keep him with her - only that now it is to reach out and hold tight, to lead him in the house, to ask him all about the life he's lead so far. She could do just that: all she'd need to do is reaching out. And she wants to. She wants to so badly that it hurts.

But she does not. Once again, the moment of madness passes and she knows what has to be done.

 _You shouldn't be here. Contact is forbidden. You're risking it all for nothing_.

Before her, Bill Cipher shifts and speaks again, this time sounding somewhat awkward. "... Shoulda brought chocolate or something, I gue-"

"You must be mistaken. We never had any sons."

That causes him to rear back and blink in confusion; Lou takes advantage of it to retreat inside the house in silence, and she tries to close the door. Tries to, because he's faster, and jams the cane he's carrying through the door.

"Whoa, whoa, wait up. I'm looking for Lou Zeebub and his wife, and he said-"

"It is us, yes. But you're mistaken, sir. We never had a son," she cuts him off, hoping against hope that he will just accept that, that he'll ask nothing more. Even his voice is hard to listen to. There is a prickling in her eye, and her vision blurs. She blinks to clear it and stares at him in the eye, but fails to keep her voice firm when she speaks again. "You shouldn't be here. Please, leave."

 _I won't have you back at the price of everything you've gained_.

He scowls, and somehow it's easier to bear than the expectant look he gave her earlier, far easier to bear than his confusion.

"Seriously? That's it? You haven't seen me since I was born, and all you can tell me now is to leave-"

_They'll take him away._

_They'll do it regardless. It will be easier if that happens now. Be reasonable_.

"You could lose _everything_. Please. Be reasonable!"

For a moment - only one moment - he stares at her as though trying and failing to wrap his mind around her words - and then, suddenly, he laughs. It is a laugh with very little mirth in it, and it makes a cold chill run through her. It sounds so very wrong, so very unhinged, and she doesn't want to listen to it.

"Hahahahaha! You know what? Good point there. Yeah, guess you're right. I've got nothing to do with your kind. You're where you are 'cause you don't deserve any better," he says, and yanks the cane back. It is her chance to close the door, but she finds herself unable to move, unable to speak. "Have a _reasonable_ day," he adds, and turns to leave.

 _Wait,_ she almost calls out, but not a sound leaves her. She just watches him walk off without turning once. A perfect Equilateral. Her son.

Bill Cipher, he said.

 _That is not your name_ , she thinks, but she can't remember what his real name should be, and she says nothing. She can only watch him leave, and hope he'll understand.

But he doesn't. Even later, with infinite knowledge at his disposal, with an eye that can see into the secrets of the universe, Bill Cipher will refuse to see things in any way but his own.

* * *

_And there is no worse madman than the one who doesn't want to understand._


	2. Focus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized I had forgotten to post this one anywhere other than on Tumblr, so here it is.

It’s not that Bill isn’t smart - because he is, everyone says he’s smart as a whip and they’re right - but the thing is, he doesn't _focus_. His attention is split between too many different things, all the time, and then he quickly gets bored, turning his eye to something else.

Liam can spend a whole day just reading a book, so focused he forgets to even drink or eat; Bill will read a paragraph, open another book, read another, get bored, and go looking for something else to do - be it raiding the pantry or pulling down the curtains so he can wear them as a cape and declare himself a superhero.

“Super Bill!”

“That’s nice. Billy, you need to get your homework done by--”

“Look! Now I’m a ghost!”

It’s funny and all, but Bill _really_ needs to get his homework done, before his grades fail and their parents stop thinking his attitude is funny. What worries Liam the most is that they may think it’s him having a bad influence - he is an Irregular, after all, and they already are trying to keep them as far as apart as it is possible while living in the same house - and make it even harder for them to spend time together.

And there is nothing Liam dreads more than being _that_ alone again.

“Bill, just focus on this for a few minutes, okay? Please?”

“But it’s boring. School is boring.”

Liam never went to school himself - Irregulars are not allowed to - and all he’s learned he had to learn on his own, with the books he could find. He remembers pleading to be able to go, even just _once_ to see what it was like, and the refusal still burns to this day. Bill’s casual dismissal of it is like a stab, too, because his brother just has no idea how lucky he is, but Liam forces himself to ignore it.

“But it’s really easy, I promise.”

“It’s too hard. I don’t get it.”

“You will if you pay attention. Just listen a minute…”

And of course he does get it, because Bill _is_ bright, and he’s quick to get the gist of everything once sets his mind on it. Liam doesn’t have to explain everything as much as he has to just keep his attention up, and it makes all the difference in the world. Soon enough he’s not just doing better: he’s at the top of his class, which baffles his teachers just as much as it fills their parents with pride.

When their mother gives Bill a tight hug and their father praises him, Liam doesn’t mind that neither of them even spares a glance in his direction. He’s used to it, and it hurts less than the looks he gets when they do: pity at best, contempt at worst. He knows they will never look at him with that same pride, with that quiet glow in their gaze - but it’s also thanks to him if Bill makes them so proud, so really, doesn’t that mean that a little bit of that pride and glowing praise are for him, too?

“Here, grab some!”

Liam takes some candy out of the huge bag their parents got Bill and eats a couple, forcing himself to pretend he’s enjoying the taste while he feels more like he’s chewing on cardboard, and lets Bill chatter on about how he got the highest score in school.

He’s happy with how things are going, of course, because he loves nothing more than praise and now he’s getting plenty of it. He loves nothing more than being the center of attention, than all the rewards he gets with each brilliant report. He glows like a small sun every time, swelling with pride, and Liam feels guilty for the stab of bitterness he feels from time to time, for the childish temptation to point out it’s thanks to him that he’s doing do well.

But he doesn’t need to, because Bill is clearly aware of it.

“You should come over one day. You’re, like, a genius or something. I’m sure you know more things than the teacher does. They’d be blown away and-- whoa! Hey! What’s wrong?”

Liam doesn’t answer right away, because he’s sure he’ll start crying if he does. So he just sniffles and gives Bill a tight hug. Bill falls quiet and doesn’t try to break away, but Liam doesn’t think he understood what it was all about.

But he did, and it becomes clear when Bill’s grades suddenly begin to fall. The proud looks become slightly worried glances and, while neither of their parents will actually chastise him, they do ask if anything if wrong, if he’s feeling well.

“It’s too hard. I don’t get it,” is all Bill repeats like a broken disk. And it makes no sense, none whatsoever, because nothing has changed: he still listens to Liam’s explanations, and he still understands _everything_.

“Don’t play dumb! I know you get it, and how. You’re doing it on purpose!”

Bill shrugs. “So what? I like knowing things. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna share. I’m gonna be a salesman anyway, and I don’t need high grades to do that.”

“That’s not the point! I--”

“They deserve it, anyway,” Bill cuts him off, causing Liam to fall silent. All of a sudden Bill is angry, and looks older than his years. “They act like you’re not even here. So serves them right that they don’t get to gloat about me anymore.”

_But if they think that Bill getting worse in school is my fault--_

“Do it for me, then,” Liam blurts out, causing Bill to blink up at him in surprise. “I am proud of you, too.”

_This is the closest they’ve ever been to being proud of me_.

He knows that it’s not fair, that this is not something Bill should be saddled with, but he can’t help it: he just wants to keep feeling like he’s someone they could be proud of, if only it wasn’t for his irregularity. Bill looks up at him, clearly surprised, then he looks away and says nothing.

Still, his grades start going back up quickly afterwards, and never dip again - not even when Liam is taken, and Bill is left to do it on his own, with forbidden books to read at night and a code to crack on top. His parents start gloating again, but Bill takes no notice.

It is not _their_ pride he cares about.


	3. Pioneer Day

"Bill? Bill, _really_. This doesn't seem like a good idea."

"All ideas are good ideas!"

"Your last good idea landed me on an operating table."

"Hey, they got the chicken bone out, didn't they?"

"And part of my spleen."

"Spleens are overrated, Sixer. Besides, the second time went better."

"You made a cut next to my surgical scars to make a smiley face."

"You're absolutely no fun."

"Do you even know how to drive?"

"I know lots of things. The secrets of the universe, for one."

"But _not_ how to drive."

Bill shrugged. Or, to be more accurate, he made Ford's body shrug. It was something really difficult to get used to, really, watching his own body moving from the outside and without _him_ in it. "Relax, IQ. How difficult can it be, anyway?" he asked, reaching for the car's knob. "Plenty of dumb meatbags do it."

"Which is why, statistically speaking, car accidents are one of the leading- You need keys to open it."

"Right, right," Bill muttered, digging through the pockets of Ford's coat. Ford floated, for the lack of a better term, on the passenger seat.

"I can teach you how to do it before we head out, what do you think?" he suggested. That would limit the damage, right?

Bill turned to grin at him from his own face, turning the key into the ignition. "Relax, Sixer. I've got everything under control. I'm a muse, ain't I?" he said, and pressed down on the gas pedal.

With the gear still on reverse.

 _Crash_.

Ford sighed, not daring to turn and look at what the meeting with the tree had done to his sorta-kinda-almost new car. "Bill."

"I meant to do that."

"You did not."

"I _totally_ meant to do that."

"... Are all muses like you?"

Bill turned back to him, the grin still impossibly wide on Ford's face. "Nope. I'm one of a kind."

"Lucky me."

"Aw, c'mon! Don't be a stick in the mud. What's a dented car compared to changing history? I'm gonna teach you everything, so don't be a bore and show me how to drive this thing."

"So you admit you don't know how to drive?"

"I do! I've seen plenty of people doing this. I just need, like, a reminder and- Oh, wow. Your eyesight really sucks!"

"Nice try, but you had the glasses _on_ when we crashed."

"Oh, blah blah," Bill muttered, settling the glasses back over the bridge of Ford's nose. "You gonna show me how to drive or not?"

Ford sighed. "You're going to try driving anyway if I say no, aren't you?"

"Maaaaybe."

 _This is exactly like driving lessons with Stanley were like_.

The thought would have caused Ford to recoil, if he'd had a body to do it. Something still had to show, however, because Bill frowned. "You okay, Brainiac?"

"... I am fine," Ford said, turning away. "All right. I'll do it. Put the seatbelt on," he added. No point in putting his body in even more danger than it already was. "And Heaven help us."

* * *

"Hey, it wasn't _my_ fault. That dumb pine just came outta nowhere."

Ford said nothing, gaze fixed on the scrunched-up mess that had been the front of his car. It was nothing short of a miracle that it could still work, even though it now resembled an accordion on wheels. An accordion on wheels that was now proceeding in a straight line, at least. Bill did learn quickly, if anything. Ford took a mental note to purchase a new air bag, and turned his gaze back to the road.

"... Tell me you're not heading to town."

"Why not? May as well get to talk to more meatbags!"

"I hardly know any of those people."

"Yup! And you've been here for what, five years now? Six? You gotta live a little and… why is it making this noise?"

"Shift the gear."

"Ugh, these things are a pain. It was easier with horses and those, whatchacallem…"

_"Covered wagons?"_

"Yeah, those. No need to sound _that_ surprised, Sixer. I've been around for a long ti-"

"What are _covered wagons_ doing here?"

"... Huh?"

Bill followed Ford's gaze - worrying, that: why hadn't he been looking ahead while driving? - and frowned as well. "Whoa. Now that's a blast from the past. Did we get through a time vortex or something?"

Ford shook his head. "No, look - the road signs are all here. Wouldn't have been here if- Bill! Slow down!"

Bill slammed the brakes, which resulted with the car stopping abruptly - and with a dreadful screeching noise - right next to one of the wagons, very nearly throwing Ford through the windshield and on the car's destroyed hood. Bill, who had only stayed in place thanks to the seat belt, stuck his head out of the window, or at least tried to. "Hiy- ow!"

Ford sighed. "Pull the window down first."

"Right, right. Hiya, guys! What's goin' on?"

"Howdy, stranger!" a man who looked all the world like he was straight out of the Oregon Trail said, tipping his hat. "It's Pioneer Day! Welcome to 1863!"

"Pioneer Day?" Ford and Bill repeated precisely at the same time. Of course, only Bill was heard.

"Yes! We celebrate the day Nathaniel Northwest founded our town!"

Bill blinked. "Ya sure you don't mean Quentin Trembley?"

"... Who?"

"The 8½th President of the United States. Fun guy - gave me my own spot on the negative 12 dollar bill! Sucks that it never took off."

The man blinked. Ford groaned. "Bill, stop talking," he said, but unsurprisingly enough he was entirely ignored.

"Sheesh, what do they teach in school these days? Never heard about the Depantsipation Proclamation? No pants allowed! Those were the times. By the way, you've got the wrong kind of pants for 1863. Do your homework, buddy!"

The man raised an eyebrow. "Are you certain you're well, sir?"

"Says the guy straight outta the Wild West," Bill huffed, and pressed on the gas pedal, leaving the wagon behind and its driver to cough in a cloud of smoke. "Hey, Brainiac! We're gonna take a look at this pioneer thing before we head back, whaddayathink?"

"Do I get a say in it?"

"Nope."

"Then why do you keep asking why I think?"

"Hey, you can head off on your own. No one can see you anyway, you can get through walls - plenty of stuff for you to see. Why don't ya find out how you like it while I have some human fun?"

… Well. Ford had to admit that it was tempting. How many times had he wished he could get in the town hall's locked rooms and take a good look, after failing time and time again to gain permission to legally do so?

"That… does sound like a good idea."

"Great!" Bill exclaimed, and slammed the brakes, causing the car to stop only a couple of roads away from the town square - and a few inches from some women dressed up as settlers, who had apparently been herding some geese. Not too far away, more people were busy with other activities - gold panning, candle dipping, something that looked a lot like a regular eating contest.

Ford had just enough time to think that was something Fiddleford would have liked seeing if only he wasn't wasting his time in Palo Alto before Bill spoke again.

"So, meetcha here at sundown?"

"Right. You're not going to do anything stupid, are you?"

Bill turned to look at him, teeth bared in a grin and eyes bright. There was a bruise forming on Ford's forehead, likely due to his head slamming against the wheel on the second crash. "Me, Sixer?" he asked, and his grin became, if possible, even wider. "Never!"

"You're not going to try driving on your own _or_ try eating anything 'like a human', are you?"

"I won't."

"You're _not_ going to add another scar…"

"Sheesh, of course not!"

"... _And_ you'll be as inconspicuous as possible. Deal?"

"Deal!"

A day would come - far too late, but it would come - when Stanford would finally understand that trusting Bill Cipher was the worst possible mistake a man could make.

But that was not the day.

* * *

"Hey! Can I try this candle dipping thing?"

"Of course, stranger! You need to take one of these and-!"

"YOWCH!"

"..."

"Hahahaha! Weird!"

"It's not your _arm_ that you're supposed to dip in hot wax, sir."

"Shoulda said that sooner. Got a flamethrower or something to melt this stuff away?"

"I believe you need to go to the hospital."

"Nah, I'm good. What if I stick my head in it?"

"... Please go away."

* * *

"Gluck."

"Gluck!"

"Gluck gluck!"

"Gluck gluck gluck!"

"Would you, uh, like to purchase a turkey, stranger?"

"Yeah, why not! I want that one. He's funny."

"The one you've been, er, talking to?"

"Yup! He tells great jokes. Hey, did you know that turkeys are called like a bunch of different countries in lots of languages? None of them is where they actually come from, though."

"Oh. That is interesting."

"Yeah. Best prank I ever pulled."

"What?"

"Nothin'. So, huh… human money, human money… how much money is this again?"

"That's three hundred dollars, sir."

"Is it enough for the turkey?"

"... Definitely."

* * *

"Move aside, peasant! You're in my way and- ow! Your turkey bit me!"

"Sucks to be you, kiddo."

"I'm no _kiddo_! It's Preston Northwest, I need to get to the stage, and you and your stupid turkey are in my way."

"Whoa, a Northwest? Didn't get any smarter, did ya?"

"How- my great grandfather is this town's founder!"

"Nathaniel Northwest waste-shoveling village idiot and one day I'm gonna shuffle the functions of every hole in your stupid face."

"What?"

"Also, your pony didn't run away. It was hit by a truck. Kinda messy, that. Lots of blood and guts and-"

"Y-you're lying!"

"Wanna guess what was it you had for dinner the next day?"

_"Moooom!"_

"And _look in your mom's closet_ to find out where your ferret went! Haha, look at him going! I'm _so_ good at humaning!"

"Gluck."

"... You're not gonna stop biting me, are you?"

"Gluck!"

"Haha. I like you! Also Ford is probably gonna eat you, so he'll like you, too. Huh, I wonder what Sixer is at. Maybe I should start getting back-"

"Horse lottery! Enter the horse lottery and win a horse!"

"... In a minute."

* * *

"Bill, what have you _done_?"

Looking back, a long time later, Stanford Pines would just be glad his body had come out of the experience in working order; not many things did, when Bill Cipher happened to be the one handling them.

At the moment, however, he found himself staring with his incorporeal mouth hanging open as Bill grinned at him from his own body. The right arm was covered in hardened white wax, the hand covered in blisters; he had a turkey under his arm, which had pecked his shirt to shreds. In the good hand, he held the reins of a horse that was nibbling at his - Ford's - hair.

"Had some fun, Sixer! Lots of it, really - not like a party back in my place, but still fun. Got you dinner and a horse! I think I also accidentally married the horse. _You_ did, really - wedding certificate's in a pocket. Gotta get the bride in the car, though. I think we're gonna need a circular saw for that."

"What… how… you're not cutting a horse to pieces in my car!"

"Of course I'm not, do you think I'm dumb? I'll cut it up first and then put it in your-"

"Bill. NO."

"Okay, okay. So, guess I'm gonna ride it home?"

"You're _not_ going to get on a horse with my body," Ford snapped. Last thing he needed was Bill falling off and breaking _his_ neck in the process.

Bill rolled his - Ford's - eyes. "Sheesh, you're such a stick in the mud. Fine. Plan C. Got to find some rope. You won't mind a few scratches on the roof of the car, right?"

* * *

A good chunk of the evening was spent at the hospital, where Ford had some trouble spinning a convincing tale as to how his arm had become covered in hot wax and why in the world hadn't he sought treatment as soon as the accident had happened.

The next morning was wasted trying to get in his kitchen without getting his eyes pecked out, wrestling the turkey into submission before he freed it in the forest. The afternoon was lost trying to divorce the horse, which turned out to be rather difficult to do as said horse - whose name was Marygold, as it turned out - couldn't sign the required papers.

The day after that, he was able to find someone to keep the damn horse, and had finally been able to clean up the _mess_ it had left on his porch.

"That was a shame, Sixer. I thought you were pretty cute together."

"Bill..."

"And really, sending her away like that? You shoulda kept at least her teeth to remember the good times-"

"Bill."

"Yeah?"

_"Shut up."_

For what was probably the first time in billions of years, Bill Cipher complied. For five whole minutes.


	4. Kryptos

"Don't look at me like that. You deserved it. You did _nothing_."

Randall's statue gives no reply, but then again Kryptos never expected it to. He's nothing but stone now, frozen in a moment of utter terror, eye wide and arms lifted. It has been a long time since he's been turned into stone - how long, Kryptos isn't sure: time has hardly a meaning anymore - before being stored away and forgotten.

Still, from time, to time, Kryptos finds himself paying it a visit. He cannot quite tell why.

"I spent seven years in prison, and you did _nothing_. Tad was killed, and you were _hiding_. You could have tried to help, but you _didn't_."

_I could have tried to escape with Tad, but I didn't_.

_Coward_.

* * *

_"Do you always have to be such a pushover?"_

_"Sorry."_

_"Quit saying you're sorry!"_

_"Sorr- I mean-"_

_"Man, you are a pushover. Is it because your frame is all weird?"_

_"It's not weird. It's just tilted."_

_"It's weird. You also have the eye and mouth in different places. Looks like an Irregular kind of thing to me."_

_"Hey! I'm not an Irregular!"_

_"Just barely. You're just as weird if you ask to me."_

_"... Sorry."_

_"Ugh, again? Stop saying you're sorry. Pushover."_

* * *

_"Oh, stop complaining. You shouldn't let them speak to you like that. Can't you be more like your cousin? He wouldn't have stood for that."_

_"... He wouldn't need to. No one speaks to Tad like that."_

_"So be more like him!"_

* * *

It would have been easier if he could bring himself to dislike Tad, but he could never do it. Few people could. He was easy to get along with, and eager to help out without coming across as condescending.

Kryptos hadn't been surprised when he had begun using his knowledge as a lawyer to try saving as many Irregulars as possible from termination. He was the kind of guy who'd go out of his way to help the underdog. That was probably why he stuck with him, too. Or at least, that was what Kryptos had always assumed. He had never really asked.

Not that he could do it now.

* * *

"This is our chance. We must go tonight."

"I… I'm not sure about this. What if we get caught?"

"Whatever happens, it won't be worse than rotting in here."

"Maybe… maybe someone will come to help. Like Randal and C-C-Croatoan, they were never caught…"

"Maybe, but I wouldn't bet on that. We must try now. This is the best chance we have. You're with me, aren't you, cousin?"

* * *

He wasn't like him and, when it mattered, he wasn't _with_ him.

He was too scared, and chickened out at the last moment. He stayed put while Tad and Pentos tried to escape. He didn't see what happened. He didn't see them being caught, struggling to break free, and being killed on the spot. He only heard about it from the guards the next day.

And, for the next six years, he hadn't been allowed to see anyone except the guards themselves, to keep him from talking of a Third Dimension even to other prisoners. An useless measure, really, because Kryptos wouldn't have spoken of it to anyone. Why should he? Knowing about it had done no good to anyone. Tad was gone. Esther, Nora, Hillmann, Pentos, Bill - they all had died. Randall and C-C-Croatoan had vanished.

And he - who had joined mostly because of Tad in the first place - was still there. Alone.

_I was just following Tad's lead. I wanted to be more like him. I followed him until the one time I didn't._

_Until the_ two _times I didn't._

_Until Bill._

* * *

"Tad, I really don't think you should have-"

"Bill is an idiot. What has _he_ done to help Irregulars? I try, all right? I try and fail more often than not, but I _try_."

"I'm sure he didn't mean to mock-"

"Of course he did! I'm just sorry I didn't get to punch him twice!"

"That doesn't sound like you at all," Kryptos blurted out, and that caused Tad to finally pause in his pacing. He sighed, and his hands, which had been balled into fists, finally opened.

"Guess I sounded more like him, huh?"

_Not tired of losing case after case, Tad? All those Irregulars, and you can barely save any. But hey, give it a couple of centuries and maybe, just maybe, something will work out better than it did the last three times! Doesn't that make you feel better?_

Kryptos gave a small, nervous laugh. "Just a little. Look, I know he really shouldn't have said that. I know you try. We _all_ know it, and… well, you did save Hillmann's son, didn't you?"

"... I did, yes."

"I'm sure it was nothing personal. He was, uh… I guess he was frustrated? I mean, his brother was an Irregular, and…" he paused and looked away. "I… he was a prick to bring that stuff up, but I don't think he was totally wrong."

That caused Tad to turn fully to him, eye wide. "You can't be serious! There is nothing we can actually do yet - Bill has no plan to begin with! He's just angry. It couldn't possibly end well. We'd be-"

"So, _are_ you afraid?"

Kryptos full processed his own question only a moment after he had asked it, and for one moment he thought Tad would strike him, too. But he did not - never would - and he didn't look angry either. He looked just tired, and for the very first time, he looked away first.

"I'd be an idiot not to be," he finally said. "I am not afraid of risking _my_ life, Kryptos. But I am afraid of what could happen to the few Irregulars I can save if I'm no longer around to do it. What I can do is little, but it's something. At least I try to tell myself as much."

"It _is_ something. And for those you help out it's _everything_ ," Kryptos blurted out, suddenly feeling incredibly guilty for his question. And yet, at the same time, there was something in the back of his mind he couldn't chase away - something close to elation at the thought that for once, just once, Tad might be _wrong_. That for once it may not be him to be a pushover, after all.

Some of the tiredness seemed to fade from Tad's eye. "Well, there you have it. Would I love to change everything, as Bill wishes? Of course I do. This world is rotten. I understand where he's coming from. But I wouldn't stake everything on something rash conceived out of frustration. Not if it means risking losing what little we have gained and doom the efforts of anyone else after us. Randall is right - this has to be about the long term goal. It's not about us at all."

Of course, he had a point. He was being _reasonable_. Then again…

_Hope for who, if we're not going to do anything? For whoever lucks out and is born close to the next turn of the Millennium, with a slim chance of running into the Sphere already knowing who it is? What's in it for us, then?_

_It's not about us at all_ , Tad had said.

_Nothing was ever about me at all._

It was a poisonous thought, but he couldn't quite chase it away. When Bill didn't show up at the next meeting he was not surprised, but he still was disappointed. Even without being there, he caused discussions - and it was a relief to realize he wasn't not the only one who thought Bill might have a point, that maybe they _should_ risk it.

Because he was a follower, had always been, and without Nora and Hillmann to back him up he might have never gathered the courage to approach Bill again.

* * *

_"Bet you know the way to the door, sir. You're standing right by it."_

_"I just wanted-"_

_"Shop's closed."_

_"I didn't want to buy anything. I just-"_

_"Then you really have no reason to be here. Sir."_

_"You don't have to call me that."_

_"How else would I call you?"_

_"... I thought friend was it."_

* * *

"Hiya!"

"Gah!"

Bill's laugh rings out at the same time ad Kryptos' yelp, but lasts longer. "Hahaha, whoa there! Don't jump through the ceiling, I just got it fixed!"

Kryptos glances up at said ceiling, covered with tapestries of what used to be people. Before they tried to turn on Bill, of course. Many have tried to fight and all of them had failed.

_Just as we did._

Had Bill never returned, never gained his powers, he would probably be still in prison now. Well, died in prison, more likely: it has been so long, many times a normal lifespan, and he hasn't aged a minute. Nor has Bill, or any of his - their - friends.

Not that however much time has passed did anything to make the memory of the day he had returned fade. It is etched in his mind, every moment of it.

* * *

When color bloomed everywhere and everyone inside - and outside - the prison freaked out, Kryptos… well, no. He had freaked out as well, because while unlike many other he had seen color before and knew what it was, he still had no idea what was going on.

And they were so many and bright and everywhere, it made his eye hurt as well. He found himself kneeling, hands pressed on his eye, until a cry from outside his cell - one of the guards' - rang out, drowning out the screams coming from outside and inside and just about _everywhere_.

"Oh, Circles, what is THAT?"

There was only one window in Kryptos' lonely cell, and he dragged himself to it to peer out, ignoring how his eye watered with the effort of taking so much input in as once. Still, when he peered out, even that was forgotten.

There was something on top of the Assembly Hall - something huge and golden, and… and... Was it a Triangle? What was going on? Was that… was that a Circle he held in his fist just now? Was it the _Chief_ Circle?

Kryptos squinted, but didn't get to get a much better look before the huge… being lifted that fist high and spoke, its voice loud as thunder and painful to listen at, rumbling as though the ground was splitting beneath them all.

_"LISTEN, EVERYONE! The Circles were a bunch of hacks! The Laws of Nature were made up and are gone! Name's Bill Cipher, and there is only one law from now to eternity - no law. This party never ends - so join it, or join him !"_

The fist clenched around the Chief Circle ignited, and the screams all around became louder, more frantic - but Kryptos heard one of it. Everything felt distant and drowned out, and he didn't even notice when the blackened remains of the Chief Circle were unceremoniously dropped on the ground below. All he could do was stare at the gigantic, golden being who had just called himself with a name he knew.

Cipher, he had said.

_Bill Cipher_.

Kryptos laughed. He laughed so hard that he fell on his knees, and kept laughing until he thought he might burst. His eye watered even more through his closed eyelid, and he still couldn't _stop_. He was still laughing like a maniac when Bill's new friends, beings unlike anything else he had ever seen, came to tear the prison down.

* * *

"Hey, Bill! We found a guy who says he knows you! One, huh… What was that again, little guy? Crapton? Craptos?"

"Kryptos!"

The yellow Triangle that landed - literally _landed -_ before him was much smaller than the towering _being_ he had watched from his cell, and also so wonderfully, _wonderfully_ familiar that, for a moment, Kryptos could only stare with his mouth hanging open.

_His shop burned. Nora burned. He must have been there, too._

And yet there he was - alive, a bright yellow instead of the dull gray he remembered, eye crinkling with amusement. How many times had he seen that expression on him?

"What is it?" he called out, lifting his arms. "Can't recognize an old frie- Whoa! Easy there!" Bill exclaimed when Kryptos ran up to him, hands shooting out to grasp his side. He felt solid and real, and Kryptos found himself shaking him.

"It's really you! You're alive! What has happened? Where have you _been_?"

_I thought you were dead!_

Bill blinked, then shrugged. "That's a long story. And I mean _long_ ," he added. But telling him was not a problem. It wasn't that long, in the end.

And besides, now they had eternity stretching out before them.

* * *

"So, whatcha doing here? Admiring my trophies? Sheesh, haven't had this place dusted in, like, forever."

As Bill moves above him in circles - he tends to do that a lot, no matter how much it unnerves him, or maybe just because of that - Kryptos tears his gaze away from Randall's statue. "I just walked in by chance. I was lost in thought."

It's a stupid lie and an useless one, because Bill _knows_ when he's lying. He knows a lot of things. Still, he doesn't call him out on it just yet.

"Or just lost," he quips, and finally lowers himself to the floor as well. He glances at the statue as well, frowns for a moment, and then his eye wides again. "Oh, old Randy! Well, not really old. Not by our standards now, huh? Good thing we're young to the core," he says, and gives Kryptos' side a light punch. "Never gonna grow _old_ , no siree!"

That makes Kryptos laugh a bit. "Yeah. Not us," he says. He doesn't really feel like laughing, though, and Bill must know it. He turns to Randall's statue, and gives it a light knock. "So, paying a visit to the old man?"

"... Yeah."

"Feelin' guilty or what?"

Does he? Hard to tell. He's kind of saddened that things ended up as they did, because he knew Randall was not a bad person, all things considered. He had wanted a free world, too, but he had been too blind to accept change when it came… and too spineless to do anything to help when Kryptos needed it.

_We had no power get you out of there! There was nothing I could have done!_

_Not willing to risk it, huh? Bill was right. You are a coward. And you grow a spine now, to go against the one who's liberated this hellhole?_

"Guess I'm sorry he didn't _get_ it," he finally says.

_Kryptos, please-_

_You should have listened to him when you could have. Tad, too. He was wrong. You were wrong._

Bill shrugs. "Guess he just wasn't wired for change. Some people aren't - limited minds and all. Will live their lives in the cage even if given a fair choice to leave it. Shame, though - he was pretty smart by this world's standards. I got to first know about the Third Dimension because of him, you know? He gave me this book because-"

Bill trails off, and blinks. For a moment he seems confused - not something he often is - but Kryptos is not too surprised. He knows well why Randall gave him the book containing the memoirs of one of the few who had been visited by the Sphere: it wasn't meant for him, but for his brother Liam. But Bill seems to have forgotten all about him, for reasons Kryptos can't even begin to imagine, and of course this leads to incomplete memories from time to time: Bill knowing something happened, but not _why_.

Eventually, Bill shrugs. "Huh, that's funny. Can't remember why he gave me the book. I was just a kid. I also switched his books around while he was off fetching it," he adds, and laughs a bit. "Haha! Thought I was slick, but he knew what I had done right away," he says, giving Randall's statue an oddly affectionate pat. "Made me put all the books back in place before I left, but I'd forgotten which ones I moved, so it took me a while. Made me late to get back home, and-" he trails off suddenly, and the confusion is back - only that, this time, he scowls. "It made me late for… for something."

_Your brother. It made you late and by the time you came back your brother had been taken away. I know. You told me as much - you told everyone. Why can't you remember, Bill? What have you done?_

Kryptos doesn't know that, as he doesn't know many things - nowhere near as many as Bill, anyway - but what he instinctively knows is that Liam Cipher should never be brought up, that it's best for all of them if Bill keeps _not remembering_.

"Probably for dinner?" he says, trying to make it sounds like a joke. Bill's scowl deepens, something akin to _anger_ starting to show, and Kryptos knows it isn't working.

"It was something important," he says, his voice suddenly deeper, akin to a growl. Something flashes in his eye, images in black and white - something wrapped up in paper, a locked door, a pile of books. "I missed something important, and that made me so _mad_."

A red glow is the only warning Kryptos gets, and he's not quick enough to move, but it's not him the beam coming out of Bill's eye is aimed at. There is a small explosion, than the sound of stone - of _several_ stones - hitting the walls. Kryptos yelps, holding his arms up, already knowing what he'll see when he lowers them: scattered rabble, and a smoking hole where Randall's statue was a moment before.

But he doesn't look at that, doesn't want to, and turns to Bill instead. He's staring at the crater, blinking, anger having already faded into confusion. "Whoa. I sure got mad there, didn't I?" he mutters, then shrugs. "Ah well. It ain't like I was gonna release him anyway. Hey, Pyronica says she and Xanthar found some so-called _rebels_ ," he says, drawing quotation marks in the air with his fingers. "Found out where they're hiding, anyway. Didn't turn 'em to dust yet in case we wanted to join the fun, and I sure do. You comin' with me?"

Kryptos doesn't feel like it, not really, but he has no intention to risk displeasing Bill right now. Besides, doing as he wants is just easier. Once a follower, always a follower.

_Pushover_ , something whispers in the back of his mind, and for some reason it sounds all the world like Tad's voice.


	5. Inspection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another scene that was originally supposed to be part of Flat Dreams, but I ended up not writing it then. Liam's loss was always supposed to be unexpected and sudden for Bill, with no warning and no actual closure, and I felt that having it happening entirely off the page was the best way to convey that. But since the whole point of this thing is posting stuff that never made it to the actual fic, here it is now.

"William."

Liam knew that something was wrong before he even looked up from the book to see his father standing in the doorway - because the rare times he addressed to him directly, his father never used his full name unless he was about to say something really, really serious.

That time made no exception.

"The members of the Board have come for the Inspection," his father said, his voice dull. His eye was fixed somewhere beyond Liam, like he couldn't bear to look at him. He was rarely happy to look at him, truth be told, but this time there was something different than disdain in his stiff posture and shifting eye. "Come."

For a few moments, everything slowed down. Liam closed the book he would never finish reading; the noise carried a sudden, staggering sense of finality. He put it down and stood, part of his mind noting how even his movements felt different, like he was underwater. Liam focused on that not to think of what would follow, focused on nothing but putting on foot before the other and following his father to the living room.

There were three members of the Board there - two Pentagons and one Hexagon. His mother was standing at the far end of the room, hands tightly folded together, eye fixed on the floor before her. When she heard her husband and son stepping in she flinched, but did not look up.

"My son," Liam's father said, and it took Liam a dreadful effort to return their gazes. They all looked grim, and one turned away after a few moments. Of course they would: there was simply no hope that Liam would pass the Inspection. One look was enough to tell.

"Good afternoon, young man," the Hexagon finally said, his voice gentle. He had measuring tape in his hand. "Come closer, please."

Liam had imagined that moment many times, and he had even prepared something to say. He had imagined himself looking back with no effort, even sneering.

_No point in doing this_ , he would say. _We all know how it ends. May as well get going._

In his imagination, he was brave and defiant and let them know he was not afraid. But now that it was really happening, he was neither. He was _so_ afraid, and all he could do was nod, and step closer as he was told to do.

"Can you spread your arms? Yes, like this. Good boy."

One of them took the measurements, while another wrote the numbers he muttered on a notepad and the third simply lingered by, in case assistance was needed - in case he acted out and they needed to overcome him, that was. Liam figured it wasn't rare for those who didn't pass the Inspection to try struggling, but he already knew he wouldn't do that. Not because he was brave, but because there was simply no point in trying.

"... Thank you. Such a well-behaved young man. You can lower your arms."

He did, daring not look up. He didn't need to: even though he couldn't see the Hexagon turning to his father, he could hear very clearly the long sigh he heaved before speaking.

"I am sorry, Mr. Cipher."

Something sank within Liam, but he had no time to focus on it, because the next moment there was a sound of hurried steps, and of a door being opened. Liam looked up just on time to see that his mother was no longer where she had been standing, just on time to see the door closing with a loud sound that sounded all the world like a gavel being slammed down.

"Mom...?" Liam found himself calling out, his voice hardly above a whisper. She had just left. She had said nothing. She had left without even a second glance - a _last_ glance.

Liam could only stare at the closed door, dumbfounded, until he felt a gentle touch on his side - one of the Pentagons. "We should go."

A cold dread gripped Liam's core when he realized that his mother wasn't the only one he wouldn't get to say goodbye to: Bill, too, he would never see again. He had left only a short time before to get him a new book, and was not back yet. Bill - his little brother, the one so confident that Liam was special that he didn't believe for one moment he would actually be terminated - would come back with a book Liam would never read, only to find him gone.

A plea to wait a few more minutes for him to come back almost left him - almost. Because he knew that if they waited, if Bill returned, then it would be even worse. They would have to explain what was going on. Bill would protest and scream and cry, and that would make Liam cry, too - and it was not the last memory he wanted them to have of each other. There had been so few bright spots in his life; Bill was the brightest of them all, and watching him cry for him would cut too deep.

_I'm sorry, Billy_.

So he said nothing. He did nothing but look down and follow the Board members to the door in what was something of a short, grim procession. They were just out of the door when his father's voice rang out.

"William."

Liam paused, and looked back. His eye was veiled with tears against his best efforts to remain stoic, and he had to blink to clear his sight. His father stood in the doorframe and, while his gaze was fixed on the ground rather than on him, he spoke again.

"... Behave," was all he said, and closed the door. That, too, sounded like a gavel being slammed down. It was fitting: his sentence - termination - had been handed down.

"Come, young man," one of the Board members - the Hexagon - said quietly, putting a hand on his back. "I can promise you it is quick, and that you will feel nothing. You're so brave."

It was an empty praise that Liam didn't bother to acknowledge. He said nothing - hadn't said a word to them, and found he couldn't bother to change that now - and just followed. As they left he turned one last time, hoping to at least catch a glimpse of Bill, who should be coming back any moment. At least that, he begged silently, even if he didn't get to speak to him, at least let him see him one last time.

He received no such gift. His last glimpse of Bill would remain his retreating back as he left his room, laughing and without a care in the world.

_I am embarrassed on your behalf_ , he had called out after him little more than half an hour earlier. So had that been it, the last thing he'd ever get to say to him?

_Not the last. There is also the letter_.

The thought was met with relief and guilt in equal measure. Relief because he was sure that Bill would find it, sooner or later; he would find and decipher it, and find his stash of books. He would know of the Third Dimension, and maybe one day he may even be able to see it. It made him feel like he was leaving behind at least something worthwhile, something for Bill to remember him by, to at least give his whole wretched existence a reason to be.

And guilt because Bill was a child and Liam knew he was being selfish, saddling him with his _own_ dreams, those he had always known could never be. Maybe it had been a mistake, maybe he was just gambling with Bill's own life by leaving him such dangerous information and had no right to do so - but as things were, there was nothing he could do to change it. What was done was done, and once Bill found his secret stash, then it all would be in his hands.

If Liam was to have anything like a legacy, then that was it. As he followed the members of the Board to his final destination, meek as one can be, he drew some comfort in thinking that he, too, had his own quiet rebellion - knowledge burning like embers beneath the ashes of his short existence, ready for Bill to extinguish or fuel, as he would find fitting.

He had left him a _choice_.

It was more than Liam himself had ever had.


	6. Laughter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's something I wrote real quickly as an official apology for the previous chapter.

The first time Bill sneaks in Liam’s room without permission to ask for a story, it takes no more than a few minutes for their mother to find him out. His laugh is like little bells in the wind and hard to miss, and he wasn’t quick enough to stifle it. Their mother hears, and comes in with a scowl.

“Liam! He’s not supposed to be here!”

“But he--”

“Story!” Bill exclaims, pointing at Liam. “A story! Wanna!”

A sigh, and she reaches down to take Bill’s arm. “I’ll tell you a story once you get back in your-- Bill!”

Bill laughs again, ducking under her hand and skipping out of reach, then pauses for a moment to turn his eye into a mouth and blow her a raspberry. It’s something Liam would never dare to do and, while he knows it’s mostly because Bill simply never gets really punished for anything, he can’t help but admire how bold he is, the way he just laughs everything off. From his three inches of height, he can lord over both of their parents with no consequence at all. He doesn’t care. If there were consequences, he probably _still_ wouldn’t care.

“Not you! Liam!”

“Billy--”

“STORY!” Bill shrieks, his voice so loud it makes Liam wince. Suddenly he’s scowling, anger looming behind his eye like thunderclouds. “WANNA!”

She gives in the end, because Bill _always_ gets what he wants, and what he wants right now is a story from Liam. Or at least, Liam assumes that is it - he wants a story, wanting to hear it for him is just a whim; he has plenty of those. It’s not like he wants his company. He’ll get bored of him, eventually, and stop sneaking in his room without permission.

Except that he comes over time and time again, and he’s rarely caught in the act. He wants to see him. He’s _happy_ to see him.  

_It’s only because it’s forbidden_ , something whispers in the back of Liam’s mind. _Deny Bill anything, and it becomes his heart’s desire. It’s not about you at all_. _It’s about breaking the rules._

It is a poisonous thought and maybe it’s not entirely untrue, but then again it doesn’t really matter. After all, isn’t Liam so happy to see him because he’s all the company he gets, too?

And besides, Bill gets bored quickly even of rule-breaking if it becomes too easy - but years pass, and he still sneaks to see him as often as he can. He asks for stories, talks about his day, asks a million questions over and over, demands to learn how to play chess, sneaks in candy and, most of all, he _laughs_.

And even as he grows older, his laugh louder and more grating - even when he’s at his most annoying and obnoxious, because he’s the most spoiled little brat that there can be - Liam still likes nothing more than hearing it.

To him, it still sounds all the world like tiny bells ringing in the wind.


	7. Mindscapes, Mindscapes and More Mindscapes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are days when I actually write Serious Stuff. This is not one of those days.

"Sixer, it's not that I ain't loving Dragons and Dragons-"

"It's Dungeons, Dungeons and More Dungeons. Your turn to roll!"

_You mean Boring, Boring and More Boring. First thing I do when I take over this dimension will be outlawing it._

"... But shouldn't we, you know, be doing science here? Hey, Brainiac, I'm talking. Get your nose outta that book."

Ford looked up from the Rules Book and, to Bill's surprise - and utter worry - winked. "Why, would you stop now that she's beckoning you?"

Bill blinked. "Who?"

"Princess Unattainabelle!" Ford declared, striking a pose to look at him through half-lidded eyes, and that was just about the last straw.

"Ain't into princesses," Bill said quickly, and snapped his fingers, causing the board game to disappear. Ford blinked.

"Really? We were just getting to the best part!"

 _The best part will be when the portal is done and this is all over_.

Bill scoffed, crossing his arms. "We did. Best part of this game is that it ends."

Ford crossed his arms as well, looking supremely offended, and puffed out his chest. "If you gave it a chance, I'm sure you'd find Dungeons, Dungeons and More Dungeons to be the best game in existence."

"Suuure."

"You're no fun."

… Wait, what? Had Sixer just told him _he_ was no fun? Had he _seriously_ just said that?

"Whoa there! I am _plenty_ fun!" Bill protested, lifting himself in the air so that he'd be at Ford's same eye level. He knew he was being baited, of course, because Fordsy couldn't do subtle to save his life, but the accusation was still so out there he _had_ to say something. "Your game is _boring_."

"You don't have enough imagination to enjoy it, that is all!"

Well, now that was rich - a mortal, telling _him_ he had no imagination? Implying that a human's limited mind could be more imaginative than his own? Still some thirty years away from meeting Mabel Pines, Bill laughed at the absurdity of the notion.

"Oh, yeah? Since we're on the subject of imagination, care to explain why you've been playing your boring board game like you're trapped in your meat cage?"

"... Huh?"

Bill threw up his arms. "I rest my case, Your Honor," he muttered. "We're in the Mindscape, Sixer! _Your_ mindscape! You can make _anything_ you want happen in here by willing it, and you sit down playing a nerdy game with your nose stuck in a book full of _rules_."

Ford blinked at him, taken aback. Once again, he looked all the multiverse like a confused owl. "I… had never thought about it."

"Good thing _I_ did," Bill muttered, and snatched the dice from Ford's hand. "So hey, lemme show imagination. You're some kinda wizard, right?"

"I'm a mage."

"Mage, shmage, who cares. Gonna use magic anyway," Bill said, and his hand clenched on the dice, blue flames engulfing it. "So, I'm gonna be a rockstar or whatever."

"A _bard_."

"I said _whatever_. Ready for some real fun?" Bill asked, and rolled the dice before Ford could answer. It wasn't like he really cared to listen to his opinion, anyway.

The Mindscape faded into a blinding blue light, and Bill noted Ford's startled shriek in the back of his mind, just in case he ever felt like using it against him.

* * *

What spread out before Ford's eyes when he opened them again was beyond anything he had ever imagined - or so he would have thought if it wasn't for the fact all of it was already in his mind, and Bill had done nothing but bringing it up to surface.

The sun was low on the horizon and red as blood, setting aflame the clouds and mists surrounding the Peak - the only mountain in a landscape that was nothing but forests and lakes as far as eye could see, at least from the hill Ford found himself standing, holding a staff with a gleaming golden gem on top, the wind making the grey robe he was clad in flutter.

It was breathtaking. It was epic, awe-inspiring, humbling, _majestic_.

At least until he heard Bill singing somewhere behind him.

"We'll meet agaaain, don't know where, don't know _wheeeeeen…_ Hey, Brainiac, why aren't you singing? Chop chop!"

Ford tore his gaze away from the scenery and turned to see Bill floating in the air a few feet from him, with a lute in his hands, without bow tie and, in place of his hat… wait, no. That couldn't be right.

"... Bill?"

"Oh, I know we'll meet agaaaaain… hey, still not singing!" Bill protested, and stopped playing. "What's the matter, Sixer? I'm a bard and all, so may as well sing. Would be nice if you bothered to sing along. Or at least clap to show your appreciation."

"Is that an Elvis Presley wig?"

"Yup!" Bill said, reaching up to run a hand through the hair. "Like it?"

"It's… not quite blending with the setting, is it?"

"I don't _blend_ , Fordsy. I stand out."

"Believe me, it is impossible to miss you even without the-"

Ford was cut off by a hissing noise, and then a sound halfway between a thud and a squelch.

"Whoa!" Bill looked down, and Ford followed his gaze. There was an arrow tip protruding from Bill's centre, clearly having gone through his back. "Hey, you're right. This one _sure_ didn't miss me!"

Another arrow flew out from the woods around them, knocking off Bill's wig - "Aw, c'mon!" - and then another missed Ford's head by a scant inch. He yelped and instinctively raised the staff, causing what looked like a shimmering glass dome to appear around him and Bill. As more arrows shattered against the dome, Ford turned to look at Bill - who had pulled the arrow out of himself and was watching with some fascination as the hole began closing up.

"How… how did I do this?"

"By willing it, genius! What else? We're in your mind. You can do anything now - a literal wizard!"

"I am a _mage_."

Bill rolled his eye so far back that the pupil disappeared within the socket, only to reappear again from the bottom. "What you are is a _nerd_. C'mon, let's kick some fantasy butt. Use your imagination, why don't you?" he said, and snapped his fingers. A feathered hat appeared over his upper angle, where the wig had been, and he lifted the lute again. "Imagine theeeeere's no heaveeeeen-"

"Are you going to sing all the time?"

"Well, duh. What else would a bard do? Music's the weapon, ain't it?"

Ford heaved an exasperated sigh and turned his attention to the situation at hand - namely, someone hidden in the woods trying to skewer them with arrows; at least two or three people. Something should be done about that: even though he knew nothing happening in his mind would cause him actual physical harm, Ford rather liked it better when he did _not_ have a wooden shaft through him.

Or at least, he assumed he did. Not that he had ever been skewered by an arrow, so it was hard to make scientific comparisons and he would have to go on instinct at the moment. And his instinct's input on the matter was something along the lines of 'no arrow, arrow bad'.

_Alright. Fine. Imagination. I can do this, I can- wait. Have the arrows stopped coming?_

Ford had barely enough time to notice as much before three figures - elves? - ran out of the forest undergrowth to throw themselves on their knees. "Please! Enough! We surrender!" one of them, with long blond hair, wailed.

Wait. What?

"I didn't do anything yet," Ford found himself saying, lowering his staff and letting the force field around them fade. Not a smart move in case of a trap, he would think later, but it was no trap.

"Not you! Him!" the same elf said, pointing a shaky finger at Bill - who was still hovering in mid-air, playing the lute with his eye shut and singing at the top of his lungs. Did he even _have_ lungs?

"I watched with glee while your kings and queeeeens fought for ten decades for the gods they maaaaade…"

"Please! This is too much! Make him stop!" another of the elves pleaded, scrambling on his knees to grab then hem of Ford's robe. "Make him stop, oh powerful one! Cease this torture! We'll do anything you ask!"

Huh. It looked like Bill's take on music as a weapon was more effective than Ford had thought it could be. "Er, I… sure. Bill?"

"Let me please introduce myself, I'm a man of wealth and taaaaaste-"

"Bill!"

That finally caused Bill to snap out of it, and he opened his eye to glance down at them. He blinked. "Oh, right. These guys. Sorry, got carried away. How'd you beat 'em?"

You did, Ford was about to say, but he thought better of it. Someone, letting Bill know his singing voice had just been qualified as _torture_ didn't seem the best course of action.

"They surrendered," was all he said in the end.

Bill laughed. "Oooh, nice of them, to make it so easy!" he exclaimed, and slung the lute over his back to hover down, closer to the cowering elves. "Okay, you know the drill. Hand over your weapons and potions and… _woah_. Where were you carrying all of those?"

"I have a magic bag as well," the blond elf explained, handing it over to Bill. "Infinite space. As for the others, don't ask."

"I'm happy to tell," another elf called out from the back, waving his hand.

"No, trust me. _Do not_ ask," the blond one whispered, a note of urgency in his voice, and Ford decided to take his word for it.

"Er… we're good, thanks," he called out, earning himself a rather disappointed pout and an approving hum from Bill.

"Good call," he said, counting a handful of gold coins. "I mean, _I_ know, but you're better off in your ignorance. Hey, hey! I saw you over there! Hand over that gold!"

"That is a fearsome bard you have," the one Ford could only assume was the leader said, watching as Bill held one of the others upside-down and shook him to make sure he got all the loot possible. Ford couldn't help but chuckle.

"One of a kind," he said. "You said you'd do anything."

The elf shuddered. "As long as you keep your bard from singing again, good sir, anything at all."

Ford didn't think there was a force in the universe that would be enough to keep Bill from doing precisely as he pleased, but hopefully he wouldn't start singing again within their earshot. "I'd like to know the shortest way to the Peak."

"You… you surely jest! Are you planning to battle the monsters that dwell there?"

Did they? As far as Ford was aware, there was no definite plan at all. He had hardly had the time to realize what was going on before those guys tried to turn him into a pincushion, after all. In the end, he just shrugged.

"Just tell us the way, and we'll see."

* * *

"Sweeeeet home Alabamaaaa, where the skies are so blueeee…"

"Are you going to keep this up for long?"

"Yup."

_"Why."_

"Bard. Plus, didn't you like this one when your college buddy sang it all the time?"

Sometimes, Ford thought, the fact Bill knew absolutely _everything_ stored in his mind could get more than slightly annoying. Just sometimes. " _No_. I just… didn't want to offend him."

"Ooh, I see. Yeah, nowhere as good as me, was he? Needed to hone his banjo skills."

Ford very nearly said that Fiddleford's singing had never caused anyone to wail and pledge to do anything in order to make him stop, but he stopped himself when it occurred to him that it _had_ , at the end of one especially nerve-wracking semester.

"Guess not," was all he said in the end, and stopped walking. Before them, the path split in two - with no indication as to what awaited them on either side: only more trees. "The elves had a map, didn't they?"

"Yeah, think so," Bill said, unceremoniously shoving a hand in the magic bag Ford was carrying. He pulled the map out, and Ford reached to take it.

"Thank- hey!" he yelped, pulling back his hand when Bill ignited his own and caused the map to go up in blue flames. "Why did you do that?"

Bill shrugged. "Hey, I ain't letting a piece of paper tell me what to do. Just pick on way and we'll find out where it leads. Where's the fun otherwise?"

"We'll get lost."

"We're in your _mind_ , you stick in the mud. C'mon, just throw a coin or something!"

"If I _had_ a coin to throw. Who decided you're the one who's keeping the gold?"

"I defeated them, remember?"

"After I shielded us. You also got skewered - do I even have to start on how _unfair_ it is that your damage heals on its own?"

"I call it _convenient_. And besides, so does yours," Bill muttered, and pulled out a gold coin, which he tossed at Ford. "There's your coin. Now throw it and let's see where it leads us."

* * *

"Are we there yet?"

"No."

"Are we there yet?"

"No."

"Are we there yet?"

"I don't even know where _there_ is. You burned the map."

"Oh. Right."

"..."

"So, are we there yet?"

"Can you _please_ get back to singing?"

"What, need a little soundtrack that's not birds chirping?"

"Something along those lines, yes."

It took Bill just moments to grab the lute and clear his throat - or at least make a similar sound, because he didn't really have a throat to clear - and start singing. When Ford recognized the song it was like a slight jab in the gut, because it was one he knew, one he'd had avoided listening for a long time now.

"The road is loooong, with many a winding tuuuuurns that leads us to who knows _wheeeeere…_ "

A long time later, Ford would wonder if it was meant to be a stab - because Bill knew of Stan, of course, he knew everything about his life up to that point - or if he had truly chosen the song at random, for whatever reason known to him only.

Right there and then, he could only listen in silence as they kept wandering through the woods of a world that existed only on paper and in his own mind, thinking back of all the times he had heard it on the radio while working on a boat that would never take the sea with him in it.

_But I'm strong_ __  
_Strong enough to carry him_ _  
_ _He ain't heavy, he's my brother..._

* * *

"Ooh, look! A dragon!"

"That is a wyvern. Look, it only has two legs and then the wings- _ouch_!"

"Nerd."

The wyvern lifted its head and let out a brief roar - or was it a yawn? - before resting its massive head down on the cobblestones again. It was resting on a huge stone bridge littered with burnt bones and armors, clearly the remains of those who had attempted to cross the bridge before. It was easily the size of Ford's house, its scale such a deep red they seemed almost black in the spots that were not hit by the sun, and its teeth like swords.

All in all, not a reassuring sight.

"We should have gone the other way," Ford muttered, trying to remain as low as possible among the bushes. "If you hadn't burned the map-"

"Oh, shut up. It's not like either of us can die in here, so relax. I can get this dumb lizard to sleep in a moment, anyway."

"We need a plan-"

"Nope, we don't," Bill said, taking the lute off his back. "Just watch and learn, Sixer."

Ford opened his mouth to say it wasn't probably good idea, then he thought of all the times he had said as much just to get ignored, and closed it again without saying a word. If Bill was right, they'd get past the wyvern. If he was wrong, at least he would finally hear him admit that.

All he had to do was wait and see. And he did see. He saw Bill lifting himself in plain view of the wyvern, heard him clearing his throat - and the next thing he heard was a roar, the next thing he saw was a sudden gust of fire engulfing Bill.

A small pile of ash fell right back down next to his hiding place and, on top of the pile, a single bewildered eyeball. Ford stared down at it. The eyeball on the pile of ash looked back at him.

"All right, smart guy. Fine. We do need a plan. And sunscreen."

"If you hadn't burned the map, we'd know where we can buy better equipment."

Bill rolled his eye. As in, the eyeball on top of the ash pile rolled before said pile turned back into Bill - feathered hat and lute included. Ford could have done without the lute making a comeback, to be perfectly honest.

"You know, I could pulverize that dragon-"

"Wyvern."

"... That stupid _thing_ in a second."

Ford shook his head. "No shortcuts in this game. That's the best part - perseverance and work to overcome all challenges."

Bill sighed. "Sheesh, and here I was actually starting to have fun," he said, but snapped his fingers regardless, causing the map to appear again, floating in the air. "Fine, fine. See where we can find the closest village or hut in the woods or whatnot. But I'll be the one handling it, okay? You'd just get ripped off."

Ford puffed out his chest. "I'll have you know that I grew up in a pawn shop. I'm not so easy to scam and- why are you laughing?"

"Hahahah! You're just so cute, Fordsy," Bill said with a snicker, pretending to be wiping a tear from his eye, then reached to flick his nose. "Adorable, really."

Ford raised an eyebrow, cupping his nose. "Not going to tell me what this was all about?"

"Nope. But seriously now - let me do the bargaining. It will be a breeze."

* * *

"THIS IS A RIPOFF!"

"IT IS THE LOWEST I CAN GO, STRANGER!"

"NOT IN THE WAY OF PRICE, IT'S NOT!"

Ford heard the argument clearly enough across the market square, but he didn't turn to look and kept his gaze fixed on the book stand, where several books on advanced magic and necromancy were exposed. Not only the books were really interesting, but he also thought it wiser to pretend he didn't know Bill at all - especially since his idea of _bargaining_ apparently included picking a fight with a blacksmith that had to be at least half a troll, or a quarter giant.

"Uhm… is the stranger over there your friend, sir?" the bookseller asked, staring at the scene over Ford's shoulder.

"I COULD SQUASH YOU HERE AND NOW, SHORT STUFF!" the blacksmith could be heard bellowing. Ford flipped through the pages of the closest book.

"Never seen him in my life," he said. "Say, how much for-"

"OH YEAH? COME AND GET IT, THEN!"

"I AM GIVING YOU ONE LAST CHANCE TO BEG FORGIVENESS AND PAY-"

Whatever he had been about to say next was drowned out in a sudden flash of light, bright enough to put sunlight to shame, and then screams. The owner of the book stall ran away along with everybody else, leaving Ford to stand there, the book in his hands, in a suddenly deserted square that now smelled vaguely of roast chicken.

Ford sighed. "Is this your idea of bargaining?" he asked, turning. Bill was hovering a few feet from him, lute slung over his bag and his arms full of all sort of things - another staff, a bow, arrows, what looked a lot like an axe. Behind him, a small column of smoke rose from the crater where the huge blacksmith had been until a few moments before.

"We had a bit of a disagreement, but I got our stuff. Might be a good idea to get away quickly and… seriously? I leave you for a moment and what you do is sticking your nose in more books?" Bill muttered, rolling his eye. "You nerds are impossible."

"This is advanced magic. It will be useful against the wyvern," Ford said, pocketing the book and leaving a few coins on the book stand; he wasn't entirely sure that was the correct price, but he supposed he couldn't be too far off. "I was thinking of staying at an inn for the night, but I suppose that you incinerating the town's blacksmith rules that out," he added. It was getting dark, and that was quite fascinating to see how the world in his mind mimicked the normal flow of time. In the real world he may have been asleep only for minutes, but in there he could live a lifetime before sunrise awoke him.

Bill shrugged before dumping all the weapons he had acquired in the magic bag Ford was carrying. "So who needs a stinking inn? You can just imagine your house in the middle of the woods, and it will appear. Your mind, Brainiac, remember?"

Well. Ford supposed he could think of something.

* * *

"A cave? Seriously?"

Ford shrugged, throwing a log in the fire. "I think it makes for a nice atmosphere. More befitting of a quest," he said, glancing towards the entrance of the cave. There was a violent thunderstorm going on outside, and as far as he was concerned it only added to the charm.

Bill didn't seem inclined to agree. "You could have thought up a _castle_."

"So could you."

Bill hummed, but said nothing else. He was resting against a rock, hands folded behind the upper angle Ford had come to consider his head, and was staring at the shadows dancing against the cave's far wall as though he could see something in them that Ford could not. Well, he probably could, come to think of it. Still, watching him stare at something in silence was odd, because Bill was never quiet for long.

"Bill?"

"Just restin' my eye, IQ," Bill said, even though his eye was still wide open. Yet, it had a distant cast to it Ford couldn't recall seeing before. "Seeing everything is hard work, you know."

Right, Ford thought: Bill didn't only know things, he also _saw_ them. Hadn't the inscriptions in the other cave, the one in Gravity Falls, referred to him as the All-Seeing Eye? The thought reminded him of something else, something that had briefly crossed his mind when Bill had burned the map and told him to throw a coin to choose their path.

"You have eyes everywhere in my mind, don't you? Full access and all."

"Yup."

"And this _is_ all in my mind. You could see where the paths would lead us even after burning the map."

"If I chose to."

Something about that answer made Ford frown. "And you chose _not_ to?"

Bill shrugged, and this time he actually closed his eye. "Would kinda suck the fun out of it, wouldn't it? Don't get me wrong there, Sixer - having answers is great, but it can also get kinda boring."

Ford had never thought about it, but now that Bill brought it up, it did make sense. He loved nothing more than acquiring knowledge himself, and hitting roadblocks could get amazingly frustrating - and yet there was nothing he found more thrilling than the pursuit of knowledge, spurred onwards by more and more questions he wanted to answer.

Would he want to have the answer to everything just handed to him like that? Would knowledge feel as good is someone simply told him everything? Ford suspected it wouldn't. Perhaps he had always _known_ it wouldn't - perhaps that was why he had never truly been bothered by Bill's clues and half-answers, his riddles and games and twisty paths to lead him to the bits of knowledge he sought.

In the end, he found himself throwing another log in the fire before focusing just enough to conjure something out of thin air - a chess board.

"Chess?"

Bill opened his eye again and blinked a couple of times before laughing. "What, a board game inside a board game? Heh, not bad of a gameception."

"Game… ception?"

Bill shrugged, sitting up. "Yeah, that's gonna make more sense in 2010," he said, waving his hand, and made his move.

* * *

"The wyvern is still there. Doesn't look like anything has changed."

"Something has, really."

"What?"

"There are a couple more corpses on the bridge."

"... Thanks for pointing that out," Ford muttered, and sank back behind the cover of the bushes. He held the staff a bit tighter.

Bill shrugged. "Hey, if they're there, then you have thought them up. You've got a morbid mind there, Fordsy. I like that," he said, ruffling Ford's hair. "And hey, relax. We've got a plan this time. I distract it, you kill it off."

"Of course. I can't see how such a carefully thought-up plan could possibly fail."

Bill laughed. "Aww, you're so cute when you try sassing me," he said, flicking Ford's nose. "No need to worry - it's not like we can die, remember? Worst case scenario, you wake up. Did you power that thing up?"

Ford nodded, taking another look at his staff. The book on advanced magic had been quite useful on that aspect - that, and the knowledge that one particular wyvern was vulnerable to electricity. "I have."

"Let the show hit the road, then," Bill said, and dropped the lute. Ford blinked.

"I thought you were going to distract it by playing."

Bill snorted. "As if! Not giving a serenade to a dumb lizard who didn't appreciate it the first time. Nice bard gloves are off," he said, and propelled himself high in the air without saying another word, in plain sight of the beast.

"But how are you going-"

"HEY, GODZILLA! OVER HERE!"

There was a roar, and another gust of fire, but this time Bill was able to dodge it. "Hah! Too slow!" he called out, and immediately darted to the left to avoid another jet of flames.

There was a roar, and Ford peered out to see the wyvern standing on its legs, wings briefly flapping, a tail covered in spikes swinging dangerously back and forth across the bridge. It was clearly furious, but not enough to take flight and leave the bridge it was guarding. There was a tower at the very end of it; whatever was in there had to be important.

"C'mon, you overgrown iguana! Can't you do any better?"

More roaring and stomping, but Bill kept well out of the wyvern's reach, and was able to get closer without being hit - until he was circling over the beast's head, causing it to spin and ceaselessly, snapping its jaws and spitting fire in the attempt at catching him. A spiked tail slammed against a couple of statues on the sides of the bridge, turning them into dust.

"Hey, Brainiac! Whenever you got a moment!" Bill called out, causing Ford - who had been staring at the scene with wide eyes, utterly fascinated, to recoil. He stood from his hiding place, the staff held up, just as Bill lifted himself high above the wyvern, causing the creature to stand on its hind legs, snapping its jaws… and leaving the underbelly unprotected.

Well, here goes nothing, Ford thought: he willed the staff to turn into a bow, evoked the sort of arrow he needed - blinding white and crackling with electricity - drew back, released...

… And missed. By far. So far, actually, that the arrow barely missed Bill - who just managed to escape both that _and_ the wyvern's swipe of a wing.

"SERIOUSLY, SIXER?"

"Sorry!" Ford blurted out, and tried to draw back another arrow. Tried to, because the next moment the wyvern's eyes turned to him, and it let out a roar. Its maw opened, and he could see in stunned awe the fire beginning to form in its maw, ready to turn him into ashes and-

"Oh no you _don't_!"

The wyvern let out a cry and jerked back, as though something very heavy had just landed on its back, and twisted. Ford had barely enough time to throw himself on the ground before its tail lashed across the spot where he had been standing, pulverizing part of the bridge's wall and covering him with dust and debris.

Ford coughed, blinking repeatedly to get some dust out of his eyes, aware of nothing but the thrashing sounds all around him, the snapping jaws, the furious roars and, above all, laughter. For a moment, he thought it had to be Bill - who else would be laughing? - but it sounded so wrong, far too deep and loud, far too much like a growl. With a groan, he lifted himself just enough to look up, and… and… wait, was that…?

"Bill?" Ford found himself breathing, eyes fixed on the huge, monstrous thing locked into a vicious struggle against the wyvern. He could think of no one else that huge, pyramidal being - all mouths and black tongues and sharp teeth, slit pupils glowing gold in the middle of pitch black sclera as it kept the wyvern's snapping jaws at bay with four arms - could possibly _be_.

The thing - Bill - laughed. "Told ya that my nice bard gloves were off!" he called out, and lifted up the thrashing wyvern just enough to expose its belly.

That was amazing, simply _amazing_. He had no idea Bill could-

"Hey! Wake up and finish it now, Robin Hood! Doesn't like being hugged!"

… Oh. Right. Ford stood as quickly as he could, turned the staff into a bow again, and summoned another arrow. He drew it back, paused for a moment… and released. To this credit, his aim was better than at his first attempt. He would have got the wyvern right in the middle of its belly if it wasn't for the fact the beast suddenly covered it with its spiked tail. The arrow tore through it, but it did nothing more than slicing it off, leaving the wyvern only wounded… and twice as furious.

Before Ford could do anything else, the wyvern roar and, what seemed like a terrible effort, it managed to break free from Bill's grip - just enough to turn on him, making him disappear under a wall of leathery wings, scales and smoke. There was a sound like fabric being ripped, and the scream that followed made Ford feel as though his blood had turned into ice in his veins.

"AAAGH! NO! NOT THE EYE!"

The wyvern threw back its head with a roar, something black and golden in its maw while, beneath it, Bill reached to press multiple hands onto an empty socket. He was trapped against the stone bridge, claws sinking into him, blinded and screaming and it was all because Ford had missed. Again. Because he had failed, _again_.

"STOP!"

There was another cry, one Ford didn't realize had come from him, and his grip on the bow tightened, causing it to morph back into a staff. He lifted it into the air and, without thinking, brought it down like a sword.

The crack of thunder drowned out any other noise, and lighting drowned out everything else, forcing Ford to close his eyes against the glare. When the thunder faded, leaving his ears buzzing, he dared lower his arm and open his eyes. The wyvern was gone, the bridge's stone blackened and cracked - and, in the middle of that blackness…

Bill…?"

He had shrunk down to his usual size, turned back into his usual bright yellow - but now he was lying eye down and, most worrying of all, he was completely motionless. Had the lighting hit him, too? Was he… no, it couldn't be. He couldn't die, neither of them could, not in his mind - hadn't Bill told him so himself? He had, and he couldn't have been wrong. He was never wrong, right?

… Right?

"Bill!"

He didn't move when Ford reached him, nor when he turned on his back. His eye was blank and filled with gray static, and it felt like looking into a broken TV screen. His limbs were limp, and he showed no sign of having heard him. The lighting must have hit him as well - _of course_ it had. What had he been thinking?

_It's not like either of us can die in here, so relax._

But why wasn't he _moving_?

Mind suddenly numb with panic, Ford reached into his bag to pull out the book and flipped through the pages as quickly as he could. Healing spells… healing spells… there had to be something there that could help-

There was a sudden burst of static, followed by a cheery tune, and Bill abruptly sat up. The gray static in his eye faded, replaced by… was that a sound wave?

"Radio Cipher here with the latest - Sixer has the worst aim known to man and very nearly friend your favorite DJ!" Bill's voice rang out, sounding all the world like it was coming from a radio. "Congrats, Brainiac! You win a lifetime supply of mocking, starting… now! More news at 11!"

"What… did you… were you just… were you just playing dead?" Ford found himself sputtering, and Bill laughed, his eye returning to normal. He laughed so hard that he very nearly bent himself in half.

"Aww, were you _worried_! That was adorable! And dumb! And adorably dumb!" he snickered. "I told you over and over, Brainiac - this is all in your _mind_. No danger whatsoever for you and _surely_ not for me."

Ford groaned, reaching up to rub his temples. "And I fell for it."

"Yup! Hook, line and sinker!" Bill confirmed before hovering to Ford's left to pick something up - a long, heavy-looking sword that seemed untouched by the lighting bolt that had struck the bridge. "And look what the lizard dropped! I'm keeping it!"

Ford frowned. Technically, _he_ had been the one to get that weapon - he recalled reading that the sword could only be obtained by slicing off the wyvern's tail, which had been his doing. Why should Bill be the one to equip it?

"You're the wrong character class," he pointed out, already knowing what Bill would say to that.

"You're saying that like it's relevant," he said, and slung the sword over his shoulder, narrowly missing Ford's head in the process and forcing him to duck. "But no worries, you won't be missing out the soundtrack! I'll keep singing anyway and-"

"Actually, I was thinking it was enough for now," Ford said hurriedly, cutting him off. He really, really wasn't sure he could stand more of Bill's singing right away. "You know, I… we have so much to do. Maybe I should wake up and get working."

Bill turned, once again swinging the sword dangerously and causing Ford to flinch back. "You sure, Sixer? Thought we were having fun here. You know, on a quest and all."

"It was fun," Ford said quickly, and to be fair, it wasn't entirely a lie. It was just… best in small doses. And he'd just had a big enough dose to last him a month. "But I am behind with my work. There is much yet to do to get to the bottom of the Unified Theory of Weirdness."

Bill shrugged. "Ah well. If you insist," he said, and snapped his fingers. The scenery around them faded in moments, leaving behind the vastness of space - which was what Ford's mindscape looked like, most of the time. Ford's own clothes turned back to normal, and Bill was wearing his usual bowtie and hat as well. In place of the sword, he was holding a cane. "So, ready to talk about weird again?"

Ford chuckled. "Sure."

"How 'bout I sing about it?"

"NO."

Bill narrowed his eye, leaning on his cane - which on the other hand, was resting on nothing at all since he was still in mid-air. "Well, well. Who's no fun now?" he said, and laughed at Ford's sigh before poking him with the tip of his cane. "C'mon. You liked the trip. Admit it. Better than your rolling dice for everything, huh?"

Ford would sooner die than downright saying it had been _better_ , but he couldn't deny it had been an amazing experience. "It was different," he conceded. "I wouldn't mind giving it another try, at some point. Just one condition."

"Yeah?"

"Never sing again."

Bill sighed dramatically. "Ow, that hurts, Sixer. Ah well. Muses are always unappreciated. Ahead of time and all," he said. And, to his credit, he did not subject Ford to his singing again.

For another thirty-something years.

* * *

_We'll meet again_ __  
_Don't know where, don't know when_ _  
_ _But I know we'll meet again some sunny day..._


	8. Perchance to Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Guess who's going to Dublin tomorrow? I am. So here's this week's update in advance!
> 
> “All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.”  
> ― Edgar Allan Poe.

Between Mr. Cipher’s shop and Randall’s bookstore there are exactly one-hundred and eighty-six steps.

They would probably be less to an adult, really, but Bill is still far smaller and his legs are  shorter. He makes up for that by running instead of walking, because he doesn’t have much time: his father wants him to spend the afternoons with him, to learn how business is done, and he only gets so much of a break.

It isn’t really common for a child to be allowed to be on his own like he is, but then again this is the commercial street. All store owners here know each other, and Bill can greet each of them by name as he runs past them to his destination. He skids to a halt in front of the bookstore, manages just barely not to bump into some Hexagon that’s just coming out with his purchase, and gets in.

The store is empty except for Randall, who’s putting some books back in place, and it’s a relief: there have been time when he was unable to sneak into the secret room in the back because the store was full of people, and someone might see him and wonder where he went.

“I wanna see him,” Bill blurts out, not bothering to even greet him.

Randall chuckles, not turning his gaze away from the shelf he’s rearranging. Looks like the guy who came out just now was a picky one. “You know the way in, Billy. Make sure you’re careful when you come out.”

“Sure, sure,” Bill says, and walks past him, to the back room behind the counter - and the fake shelves leading to the _other_ room, the secret one. He’s almost reached it when Randall speaks again, and this time it sounds different. It sounds older, and infinitely mournful.

“Bill. You know this is not how it really went, don’t you?”

For a moment, everything before Bill’s eye grows fuzzy and undefined; everything around him wavers and the bookshop changes into something else - Liam’s empty room. But he squeezes his eye shut, refusing to see.

“No. This is how it went,” he says. Randall says nothing, and when Bill opens his eye again everything in the bookshop is back to normal. Everything is real. “This is how it went,” he repeats, and rushes to the hidden room before Randall can say anything else.

* * *

_I always wished I could see the colors_.

* * *

“Hey! You’re gonna go blind if you keep staring at those all the time!”

Liam recoils, and turns away from the splashes of color on the wall. He gives a chuckle that’s somewhat sheepish. “Sorry. It’s just… they’re just amazing.”

Bill can only agree - especially the super bright one on the top left - but with limited time, he’d rather not be talking about colors for the millionth time.

“I brought you candy,” he announces, letting the small sack drop on the pile of books next to Liam’s desk. Not far from them there is a small curtain where Liam’s bed is. It feels a lot like nothing has changed, like he’s sneaking in his room all over again - except that now his room is the secret place in Randall’s bookstore, and that no one but himself, Randall and few others know he’s there. He also can’t go out, unless it’s for short walks and at night, but it isn’t like he got out much before, either. He makes up for that by reading even more than he did before, and filling notebook after notebook with notes.

“Thanks. How are mom and dad?” Liam asks. It is a question he asks each and every time, and Bill has learned how to answer now.

“They’re fine,” he says, and adds nothing more. They had an argument about it once, because Bill can’t begin to imagine why would he care. They were ready to let him be taken away when the Inspection came. Liam would be dead now if Randall hadn’t stepped in and offered him a hiding place. A stranger, more willing to risk it than either of their parents.

“... Do you think they miss me?”

Bill shrugs in silence, because he honestly cannot tell. Both of them are behaving like Liam never existed. “Maybe,” he says.

Liam nods at his answer, and reaches to grab a handful of candy before speaking again. “I have been reading more about the Third Dimension. It’s mostly speculation, but I have a few theories. Wanna know about it?”

Bill rolls his eye. Seriously, is that even a question?

“Sure I do!” he says, then, “Tell me a story, too, and I won’t tell Randall you told me,” he adds. He knows that Randall is against him being told too much yet - “You’re far too young!” - and that he was already hesitant about letting him know where Liam was in the first place. He probably thought Bill wouldn’t be able to keep an important secret - as if!

Liam laughs. “Alright,” he says, and turns to grab his notes - only that he pauses, hands in mid-air. He stays still for a few long moments, causing Bill to blink.

“What is it, Brainiac? Got a brain freeze?”

Liam turns to look at him slowly, and Bill can see that his eye is unfocused, glazed over. It is not the eye of someone who sees what’s before him. It is not the eye of someone _alive_.

“Bill…” he says, his voice sounding so far away, and Bill knows what he’s about to say. Cold dread creeps through his very core.

“No. Don’t.”

“This never happened.”

“It did. It’s happening right now.”

“I was never here. I never saw the colors.”

“No,” Bill snaps, and closes his eye, presses both hands against it. “No. No. _No_ . This is what _happened_.”

“Bill…”

“I… I don’t like this story. Tell me another!”

“My story has ended, Bill. Open your eye.”

“No!” Bill screeches, shutting his eye tighter. “Don’t do this!”

“I am sorry.”

“YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO ME! I WANT A STORY! I JUST WANTED A STORY!”

“Wake up, Bill.”

“I… no! This is what happened! This is--”

* * *

“Bill! Wake up!”

“Gah!”

“Hey, careful there!”

Someone’s hand grasps his wrist just as Bill feels himself falling back, and drags him back forward to steady him. There is a laugh, the same voice speaking again.

"Didn't have you pegged as someone who snoozes on the job! You’re lucky it was _me_ to come in and not some shoplifter!”

Bill blinks a couple of times, realization sinking in: he’s sitting at the counter in his store and before him, still laughing, is Nora. Wait a moment - did he really just fall asleep there? He groans, reaching to rub his eye.

“You’re never gonna let me live this down, are you?”

“After you almost fell back on the floor? Not a chance. Unless you feel like parting ways with that lovely pocket watch I have seen in the window.”

Bill rolls his eye. “No way. You already got a free necklace out of me,” he says, gesturing to the necklace in question, which Nora is wearing in that very moment. “Ain’t giving more stuff for free. Will sooner live with the mockery.”

Nora bats her eyelashes, leaning on the counter. “Not even a friend discount?”

“Would work better if you weren’t packed with dough, honey. Also, got to up your eye-batting game. I can out-bat you any time,” Bill says, and proceeds to just that, causing Nora to snicker.

“Fine, I give up. You’re prettier than I am. Now, we could paint each other’s nails and talk about the boys we like. Or,” she adds, placing a folded piece of paper on the counter, “we could talk about this.”

“... Swapping recipes?”

“Recipes to fix this world? Sign me up,” Nora says, but she seems to sober up when she meets Bill’s gaze. “The coordinates. I have them.”

It’s like a jolt, and Bill finds himself too stunned to speak for a moment. “Wait. You managed to calculate where the Sphere’s _entrance point_ is?”

“Yup. Am I getting that watch now?”

Bill laughs, and stands. “Are you kidding? You can keep the whole store after this!” he exclaims. What he’s looking at might be the answer to all of their problems - their chance to meet the Sphere, to warn it, to finally change that dump of a world for good! Still elated, he walks around the counter, the piece of paper with the coordinates held tightly in his hand. “Let’s get the others and go now! Grab the watch if you wan--”

A cold, cold hand closes around his wrist, causing him to trail off. He freezes, eye widening, and doesn’t turn when he hears her speaking - her voice now hollow and distant, nothing like what she sounded only moments before.

“It would be so nice if this was what happened, wouldn’t it? But it wasn’t.”

The grip on Bill’s wrist goes from icy to hot, almost unbearably so. The walls before him waver and smolder, and Bill shuts his eye not to see it. Realization that none of this is real sets in, heavy as a stone.

_Bill…?_

“No,” he hears himself saying. “This is not what happened.”

“They were after me. I had burned my own father for a greater good. I burned with them, too, so that you’d have more time,” she speaks again behind him. “I asked something of you, something more than a watch. You promised.”

_Make it worth it_.

Bill shuts his eye tighter. “I wasn’t my fault,” he grits out. He can already feel the heat in the room rising, see the red hue of the flames through his eyelid. “I tried.”

_Bill? C’mon, buddy, wake up._

“And you failed.”

“That stupid Sphere wouldn’t listen. That stupid _baby_ wouldn’t listen.”

“No. They won’t,” Nora says, and the heat becomes unbearable. “They won’t listen and lock you up to rot in a jail for breaking rules you didn’t even know existed. No point in going. No point in trying. Stay, Bill. Stay and _burn with us_.”

Her last words are lost in the roar of flames, and the grip on his wrist disappears. Bill opens his eye to see that everything - the walls, the ceiling, _everything_ \- is engulfed in fire.

_Bill! Wake up!_

There a crashing noise as one of the windows explodes, and the sudden increase of oxygen feeds the fire. Bill has no time to scream, and can only close his eye and uselessly lift his arms as the flames rushes towards him and--

* * *

"BILL!"

_Whack._

"Ow!"

The first thing Bill saw when he opened his eye were stars, because whatever just hit him hit him _hard_. The next thing he saw were more flames, so close and blinding that he was surprised they weren't melting his eye off.

… Wait a minute. Why _weren't_ they melting his eyeball off?

Bill blinked a couple of times, and everything else around him finally came into focus. The bare walls and the bars of a prison cell, and the dark silhouette behind the flames. Squinting, he could see her face as she leaned over him, her only eye that reflecting the cold fire engulfing her limbs.

"... 'Ronica?" he called out.

Pyronica's face opened up in a smile, showing huge mismatched teeth. "Oooh, so you are awake now! About time! You sounded like you were having an awful dream, cutie. I thought you just wouldn't wake up this time," she said, and sat down next to him, on the lower bunk of the bunk bed they shared.

"Uugh," Bill grunted, sitting up. "You almost made sure I didn't. How hard did you smack me?" he asked, reaching to rub the aching spot. At least he didn't have to worry he may still be dreaming: that had felt _painfully_ real.

"Oh, sorry!" she said, and reached to poke his upper angle. "I forgot how delicate you are."

"I'm not _delicate_ , it's you who-"

"Aww, you're so cute when you ruffle your feathers!" Pyronica snickered, and snatched him up in a bear hug. "I could eat you whole!"

_I know. That's the worrying part._

"How about you put me down?" Bill managed. He was rather sure she didn't mean to squeeze him too hard, but it was what she was doing regardless. Unsurprisingly enough, she ignored his request - though her grip slackened just a bit.

"So, what was it about? You kept moving and muttering stuff that made no sense!"

Bill, who was about to demand for her to let him go once again, fell silent for a few moments.

_I always wished I could see the colors._

_Make it worth it._

_You know this is not how it went, don't you?_

"... Nothing. It was nothing."

"Don't wanna talk about it, huh?"

Bill shrugged. Or, at least, tried to. Her grip was still tight enough to keep him from moving much. "Just thinking I shouldn't be here," he said. He felt, more than heard, the chuckle that shook her frame.

"Then you've got something in common with just about everyone in the Infinetentiary," she said, and flopped down before Bill could say anything, taking him down with her.

"Hey! Did ya take me for a teddy bear or what?" he protested, trying to squirm away, but to no avail. He may as well have tried to fight off a wall.

"Oh, shush. Just making sure you get a little shut-eye. I'll squeeze you if you start mumbling in your sleep again. Comfort works wonders!"

"That's more likely to _smother_ me."

"Would still stop the bad dreams, no?"

"... Can't argue with that logic," Bill conceded with a sigh, and settled down. Well, he had to. Not much choice there. "You're a _pain_ , you know."

"Aww, thanks! Hey, Paci and Teeth are coming out of solitary tomorrow. How about we celebrate the usual way? There's a bunch of newcomers this week to need their baptism of fire!"

_Stay and burn with us._

Bill scowled, forcing himself to ignore the thought. "... Yeah, why not. That's fun," he said. "Usual way?"

"Yup. You get them mad, and we move in when they're about to stomp on you."

"Just move in quicker than _last_ time. The big one almost got me."

"Heh. My bad, that. Got distracted."

"By a guard."

"Hey, he looked cute. Sucks that he didn't last more than a week."

"Shouldn't have gotten on 8 Ball's wrong side."

"Since when does he have a _right_ side?"

"You've got me there," Bill admitted. There were some chuckles, and then silence. She didn't speak again and, after a time, she began snoring - loudly, but it was nothing Bill couldn't bear: he'd had seven years to get used to it, after all.

He didn't try to squirm out of her grasp again - no point anyway, since she was much stronger than him even in her sleep and he'd probably just wake her up - and just settled for looking at the opposite wall, at the flickering shadows cast by Pyronica's flames. He did it often, especially when he couldn't sleep. He often found himself looking for a glimpse of any geometrical figure in them, anything that looked even vaguely _familiar_.

He never did, and that time was no exception. It was a relief, and relief helped him close his eye again and let himself fall asleep. If he dreamed again, he did not remember it upon awakening.

Come morning, a prison riot would change everything. Soon, he would forfeit his mortal form to become as a god - a being of pure energy, something with no need for nourishment, no need for _rest_.

And then it would be a trillion years before Bill Cipher ever slept again, a trillion years before he could dream once more of what should have been.

* * *

"... Liam?"

"Hmm."

"Liam!"

"Billy, it's late. Stop waking me up. You should be sleep- Hey! Stop poking me!"

"Just checking."

"Checking what?"

"... I dunno."

"Sometimes I wonder about you, you know." A yawn, shifting blankets. "Get back to sleep."

He does, the sudden apprehension fading, and the dream within the dream resumes.

* * *

_"This is an illusion."_

_"So is reality."_

_"You must break it if you wish to return."_

_"How 'bout I break you instead?"_

_"You invoked me, and now refuse to awaken?"_

_"Go away."_

_"You cannot remain asleep forever. You don't wish to - I know it and so do you. A day will come when this will no longer be enough to sate you."_

_The statement is met with silence, and the Ancient knows that the All Seeing Eye has once again closed, limiting his reality to the small room in his mind whose entrance is precluded to anyone else. There is a sigh like wind in the trees and something retreats, tendrils of darkness pulling away from the door._

_"I'll be waiting, Cipher."_

* * *

Just a little more summer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one."  
> ― Albert Einstein


	9. (K)ill Bill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the main reason behind this is that I wanted to write Bill being sick. Ill Bill, as someone put it. That's all. So sue me.

The first sign that something wasn’t quite right was a prickling in the back of his throat. Stanford dismissed it at first - looking for the Hide Behind was more important, icy wind and snow and all - and just remained in his hiding spot.

It was dusk, and his glasses were covered with frost, when he finally admitted defeat and retreated to his house. By then, his throat was definitely sore and he was coughing so hard something in his chest ached.

Ah well. It was nothing a hot drink wouldn’t take care of.

* * *

Night came and passed, and Ford couldn’t sleep. Admittedly, the fever and chills could have something to do with it. Maybe he should have taken another scarf with him, after all. His muscles ached, too, but those could be easily dismissed as the result of crouching for too long in the same position.

Towards dawn, he was able to fall asleep and dream of nothing, except the sensation of a constant presence behind him. When he woke up again, it was lunch time. Not that he was up to have any lunch at all: he was a bit too busy coughing up mucus and taking note of how enlarged his lymph nodes had become.

“A flu, then,” he told the empty room, his voice croaky. It was annoying, really, especially since he kept sweating and felt dizzy when he tried to sit up, but oh well. He’d rest some more. The flu would pass in a couple of days.

* * *

All right. Make it three days.

* * *

… Four?

* * *

_Journal Entry ????_  
_I suspect I might have come down with pneumonia after all. Had I realized as much, I might have sought treatment before I got snowed in. Still, I have everything I need here. Food and medication. Will rest until recovery. If it doesn’t get any better by the end of the week, I can still call an amb_  
_No no no. No such thing. Too much here. I can’t let strangers in. Impossible. Phone lines are down anyway. Snowstorm. Might be days before they’re back to normal._  
_Can’t read. Can’t focus. The radio is broken and I can’t focus enough to fix it. Should be a child’s play._  
_Fever not breaking._ _  
I wonder where Bill is._

* * *

“Hey, Sixer! I know it’s been a while, but-- _whoa_. What’s going on here?”

The first sign that something wasn’t quite right was that most of Ford’s mindscape was on fire and really, that would have been hard to miss even without an eye that can see everything. Flames were blackening the books and scrolls floating all over the place and, most of all, the black-blue of the universe had turned an ominous red-purplish color. Not that Bill had anything against those colors, but it really, _really_ was not what Brainiac’s mind usually looked like.

And somehow, Bill doubted his favorite pawn had just decided to do some redecorating.

“I have… caught a bit of a cold,” Ford said. He was sitting on the non-existing floor, gaze fixed on a book. His eyes were not moving, though, and his grip was way too tight. Bill frowned.

“That’s some understatement, genius. Also, that book you’re _not_ reading is catching fire.”

“Gah!”

Bill rolled his eye when Ford winced and dropped the book, as though the flames had burned him. They hadn’t, of course - nothing could hurt him in his mind - but instinct was not so easily overruled. “This ain’t a cold, brainiac. Your mind wouldn’t be _on fire_ for anything less than raging fever.”

Ford sighed, dropping his shoulders. “I suppose I might be more seriously ill than I previously thought,” he admitted. He was still trying to sound calmer than he actually was, but of course it was useless: there was nothing he could hide from Bill, let alone something so obvious.

And Bill didn’t like what he was seeing, because it _was_ serious - he had seen people dying of pneumonia back in the day, and without proper treatment IQ just might end up watching daisies from the roots’ side as well. And, as dead men built no interdimensional passages, it would be nice if good old Fordsy refrained from _dying_ _on him_ before the job was done.

“ _Seriously_ , Sixer? I go away for, like, ten minutes--”

“Ten days,” Ford said, a somewhat accusing note in his voice that Bill entirely ignored.

“... And I come back to find you’re trying to make your pathetically short life span even _shorter_? You were a smart guy last time I checked!”

Ford swallowed, but he did try to argue. “I doubt it’s so bad I might die of it,” he said, crossing his arms. “Didn’t you say I’d die of a heart attack at ninety-two years of age?”

Bill groaned, reaching up to massage his eye. Humans had a habit of thinking themselves smarter than they really were, which was really amusing most of the time - but now he only made him want to strangle someone. Possibly Ford. No, _definitely_ Ford.

 _Hands around the neck, thumbs of the throat. Squeeze and shake. Wouldn’t_ that _feel good_.

“I don’t think you get how this works, IQ,” Bill muttered instead. “I can see a pretty good approximation of the future, but it ain’t set in stone. You guys can change it. The smallest thing can change _everything_ . I can see how and when you _should_ die, but that ain’t gonna happen the way I saw it if you decided to, say, jump in front of a train right now. Or, dunno - _stay locked in your hut in the woods with pneumonia and no treatment_ . But hey, good thing you’re a clever guy who wouldn’t ever do that, huh?” Bill snapped, throwing his arms up. “Except you’re doing just that! What the _heck_ , Stanford?”

That caused Ford to wince and look down. “I… hadn’t realized how bad it was until I was already snowed in,” he muttered, sounding all the world like he was admitting a failure. “I thought of calling an ambulance, but the phone lines are down. There was a snowstorm on Wednesday, and… what are you doing?” he asked when he realized Bill’s eye was rolling in its socket, images flashing too quickly for him to actually see them.

“Shut it,” Bill cut him off, and focused on see where that path would lead. “... Well. Good news is, they would find you by springtime when they come check out how come you haven’t paid the energy bill. The stuff they’ll find in your house would make the local news for a bit,” he said, and let his eye return to normal, focusing it back on Ford - who was now just a bit paler than before. Kinda interesting, really, how the projection of himself in his mind mirrored the physical reactions he’d have in the real world. “Bad news is, you won’t get to do what it takes to change the world due to being sorta dead. Which would suck, Fordsy. There’s a lot we have yet to do. So now you’re gonna wake up and drive to a hospital or something.”

“But there is still too much snow. It would be dangerous--”

“The biggest danger now is staying here!” Bill cut him off, and snapped his fingers - something that was supposed to kick Ford out of there, and back into awareness. Except that it didn’t: Ford remained where he was, and Bill blinked in confusion for a couple of moments before realization sank in.

“... Tell me you didn’t pass out.”

“I didn’t pass out.”

With a groan, Bill slapped himself above the eye. “Ugh. Great. You’re so far gone I can’t even get you to wake up.”

This time, Ford was more than just pale: he was white as a sheet. “Maybe… maybe I’ll wake up on my own, once I get a little bett--”

“You won’t be getting any better like this,” Bill snapped, and floated closer, a scant inch between his eye and Ford’s face. “Your meat sack, Ford. Hand it over. _Now_. I’ll take it from here.”

Ford blinked, rearing back. “Wait, you’re not going to try driving in the sno--”

“I said _NOW_!”

Maybe it was the fact that he had allowed his eye to turn red and his surface to blacken, his voice becoming loud as thunder - but this time Ford was very, very quick to comply.

* * *

“Uuugh…”

Thud.

_“Ow.”_

The meeting with the floor was unpleasant, but it was only one of the many amazingly unpleasant things that assaulted his senses. The dizziness, the nausea, the fever and chills and aching joints were worse. That, and the fact he couldn’t stop coughing despite all air having seemingly blown out of his burning lungs.

“What the-- hack! I can’t breathe!” he managed, reaching up to grasp at Ford’s throat. He didn’t normally _need_ to breathe, but of course he would have to when inhabiting a body. “I-I can’t…!”

“The nose is just closed up! Breathe through the mouth,” Ford’s voice urged him from somewhere above him, and Bill did as he said without thinking. He inhaled, coughed, inhaled again and then coughed some more - but yes, at least he could breathe. It didn’t make the dizziness go entirely away, but it helped. Sort of. Kind of.

“Hack! What the-- what’s this stuff?”

“You’re, um, coughing up mucus.”

“Yuck. You humans are - hack! - disgusting!” Bill wheezed, and tried to stand up. The first and second attempt resulted with little more than some flailing around, both due to the blankets he was tangled into and the room spinning around him, but he finally managed to grasp the edge of the bed and lift himself up on his knees first, and then to stand. Everything seemed to waver before him, but he managed not to fall. He coughed again, chest burning, and took a few unsteady steps.

Well. He could walk. That was something.

“I’m burning up,” he croaked. “Geez, Brainiac. I sound terrible. As in, your throat makes me sound - hack! - terrible.”

“You should drink some water,” Ford said, coming to hover beside him. “Just... remember how I showed you to do it, right? In the mouth. In the mouth only. And, uh, Bill?” he added, following him as he managed to drag his stupid, sick body to the kitchen and reach the sink.

“Yeah?”

“... Putting some pants on before going out would be advisable.”

* * *

“What do you mean, it - hack! - it can’t move?”

“There is too much snow on the ground! There is no way the car can get to the road unless we - that is, you - shovel it away first. We need to make a path.”

The sound that left Bill through Stanford Pine’s throat didn’t sound like a laugh as much as it sounded like a screeching sort of cough. It took so much out of him that he had to lean forward, hands resting on his knees, and draw in a few wheezing breaths. “You serious, Fordsy?” he rasped. His chest burned, but then again all of him did. For a moment he almost thought he may as well just roll in the snow and melt it off with just the heat Ford’s body seemed to be emanating. “Can barely _stand_.”

There were a couple of moments of silence before Ford spoke again. “... There is a flamethrower in the basement,” he said. Bill blinked, and turned to look up at him - a bit too fast, really, because it made his head spin, but he managed not to lose his balance. He gaze a wheezing laugh.

“Ha… Hahah! Hahahahah! Thats sounds - atchoo! - that sounds like fun, Sixer! What, am I rubbing off you now?” he asked, and turned to walk back inside the house to fetch the flamethrower - except that his head spun, again, and all of a sudden it was as though his legs had turned into cooked asparagus.

“Bill!”

Bill heard Ford calling out as though from really far away. For a few moments all he could register was how cold and dark it was and really, it felt kind of nice. Better than feeling like he was burning alive, really. It was soothing. Hey, maybe he could take a nap now? He hadn’t slept in a trillion years, after all, because pure energy needed no rest - so maybe he could try to--

“BILL! Get up! You can’t stay there!”

He groaned, shutting his eyes tighter.

 _Tell me a story or let me sleep, Brainiac_.

“Why not?” Bill grumbled, or tried to, because he found himself trying to speak through a mouthful of snow. Wait. Had he just fallen face down?

“You need to get up! If you pass out now, you’ll… I’ll…!”

_Die. Right. Human bodies ain’t not wired to lie down in the snow. If I pass out, this body’s done for. And I still need this guy. He’s smart. He’s got a portal to build._

_But Liam was smart! Real smart! He could have-_

_He could have nothing._

_You’re wrong. You’re all wrong._

“BILL!”

“No,” Bill croaked, mind reeling. He wasn’t sure what was going on, when or where he was and who was speaking, but he wanted it to stop. “No. No. Shut up. Let me sleep.”

“Don’t fall asleep! Bill, listen to me! We still have so much to do - you said it yourself!”

_So much to do._

_The portal._

_He’d die._

_Still need him._

_No one’s ever again taking anything of mine while I’m not looking!_

“Uuugh,” he groaned, and pulled himself up on his elbows with what felt like a titanic effort. How did humans cope with being so weak? How had they lived and thrived for millions of years through illnesses like this, or worse? “You - hack! - there, Sixer?” he called out, trying to look up. Not that he could see much, with snow between the lenses and the eyes. He shook his head to get rid of some of it.

“Yes,” Ford’s voice came from above him. “I… maybe I should try to do this. You don’t have to--” he was cut off when Bill suddenly coughed, leaving something in the snow - mucus with clear traces of blood.

Not a good sign, Bill could guess easily enough.

“You _passed out_ , IQ. Wouldn’t be able - hack! - wake up again,” he wheezed, and forced himself up on his knees. “You ain’t got a chance. I do,” he coughed, and stood, propping himself up on the stump of a cut-down tree. The joints and muscles and just about everything ached, but he was still able to stand up. Somehow. “Besides, I ain’t passing up a chance to use a flamethrower,” he added, wiping his mouth with a sleeve, and grinned. “This is gonna be fun.”

* * *

It was fun.

Sure, there were casualties - the letterbox and Ford’s own coat, for example - but it was still fun. Plus, the path to the road was more or less cleared, and that was the goal.

“You do know the way to the hospital, right?” Ford asked as soon as Bill sat - slumped, really - on the driver’s seat and put the keys in the ignition with hands that wouldn’t stop shaking.

“I - hack! - know lots of things, Sixer.”

“And the way to the hospital _is_ one of those, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, yeah. There’s one in the next town over.”

“... Isn’t the _local_ hospital closer?”

“The local hospital is crap. Plus, do you really want a bunch of tree  cutters to know that the weird science guy in the woods is out like a light?” Bill asked, starting the engine and making a huge effort to keep his - Ford’s - hands steady on the wheel. “What would keep nosy - atchoo! - kids from snooping around your… hack!” Something in his chest burned, and Bill coughed in his hand. When he pulled it back, that on the palm was _definitely_ blood. “... Well. Enough talk. Gotta get going.”

“Wait!” Ford exclaimed, causing him to pause. He blinked.

“What is it?”

“Put the seat belt on.”

“ _Seriously_?”

“Just to be safe. There is still snow on the road, and--”

“Sheesh, relax. I know how to drive now. It’s not like I’m gonna drive through a wall or something.”

* * *

“So a guy just _drove his car through the emergency room’s wall_??”

“I know, right? It was just at the end of my shift, and boom! It just bursts in! Took down most of the wall near the door. Thank God no one was close enough to get hurt.”

“Was the _driver_ hurt?”

“Not too badly, I guess. He could still get out. I mean, he looked like something had chewed him and spat him back up, but most of all he looked completely insane. The Frankenstein kind of insane. He came out of the car through the broken windshield, said ‘fix up this idiot’ and fainted.”

“... At least your job isn’t boring.”

"You can say that again. More coffee, thanks.”

* * *

“See? Taking you here instead of the local hospital _was_ a good idea. Better not get the Gravity Falls folks to know you as the Destroyer of Walls, huh?”

_That, too, soon enough. But you don’t need to know it yet._

“... I guess so,” Ford said, his voice still croaky and sort of nasal. He was resting on his back, staring up at a crack on the ceiling. Good thing the other bed in the hospital room was empty, Bill mused, or else someone might have wondered about the guy talking to himself.

“Hehe. You sound _weird_.”

“My nose is broken.”

“Doesn’t look any different.”

“Thanks.”

Bill snickered, coming to hover next to his head. “Hey, not my fault it it already looked like used chewing gum or some--”

“No, that’s not-- I did mean it. Thank you. For getting me here,” Ford said, causing Bill to blink for a couple of moments. “You’ve saved my life.”

Oh. So that was a _real_ thank you, huh? Well, should have guessed, really. He _deserved_ it, anyway. “Anytime, Sixer. Well, kinda. Let’s not make this _anytime_ , yeah? Or ever again for the matter,” he said, waving his hand. “You’re gonna change the _world_ , Ford. Can’t let some dumb human sickness get in the way of that.”

That made Ford chuckle, his gaze still stuck on the ceiling. “That was poor thinking from my part,” he admitted. “But you have inspired so many minds, haven’t you? The greatest. You could have moved on to the next.”

The desire to be told otherwise, to be _validated_ , was so obvious it was almost pathetic. It was laughable, really, that a slightly abnormal physical feature - nothing compared to the kind of _abnormal_ he had seen - could result with something so crippling, make him so easy to manipulate. There were moments when Bill just laughed at the hilarity of it.

He didn’t now.

 _You'll be fine. When they see how smart you are, you being a freak won't matter anymore_.

“Fordsy, my pal,” he said instead, coming to hover right up his face, so that Ford could see nothing but his eye, flashing images of galaxies and dimensions unknown to humankind. “I don’t think you get it. You are the _single_ most brilliant mind I have encountered since your species began walking on two legs. _The greatest_ can suck a sour one, because _you’re_ it. Millions of years of waiting, and here you are, just needing a little help from a friend,” he added, and let his eye return to normal. He made a gesture as though to pat Ford’s cheek, but of course he couldn’t really touch him outside the mindscape: he was nothing but a projection, at the moment.

_But not for long. Not for much longer._

“But hey, we’ve got limited time,” Bill went on. “So don’t limit it even more.”

_And if you play your part well, I might even feel generous and let you live. Eternally. Where would a freak fit in if not in a madhouse?_

Unaware of Bill’s thoughts, Ford smiled. He was still not a pretty sight, his face bruised from the car crash, but Bill had seen worse. “... I’ll do my best not to.”

“Deal?” Bill asked, causing Ford to laugh, and then wince, and laugh again.

“It’s a deal.”

“Great. Hey, you know what? Music therapy works wonders,” he added, and made a piano appear out of thin air - along with a nurse hat in place of his usual top hat. “How about that?”

“No, wait--”

_“When the niiiiight has come, and the land is daaaark and the moooooon is the only liiiight we'll seeeee…”_

“Bill. You had _promised_ to never sing again!”

“Aww, c’mon!”

_“No.”_

With a sigh, Bill made the piano disappear - but not the nurse hat. “Fine, fine. How ‘bout this?” he asked, snapping his fingers. Two incorporeal things appeared between them: a chess board, and a radio.

_So darlin’ darlin’ stand by me…_

“... Really?”

“Hey, ain’t me singing,” Bill said, and moved a pawn. “Your move.”

“Are you going to keep the hat on?”

Bill shrugged. “I look good in it.”

“Right,” Ford said, mouth twitching in what was a reasonable imitation of a smile, and made his move.


	10. Μελπομένη

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Μελπομένη/Melpomene: the Muse of Tragedy.

Mr. Cipher died on a Monday.

It was unexpected, but not overly surprising. He was getting old - the fact he had been past the ideal breeding age when he had married had been considered the prime reason why his only biological child had come out as he had, a hopeless Irregular who had been terminated before the age of sixteen - and a his sides had grown frail; a nasty fall was all it took.

It had been quick, neighbours had reassured the grieving widow. She had seemed to take a little comfort in that; Cipher’s surviving son, Bill, clearly hadn’t needed any to begin with. He had acknowledged the condolences, arranged the funeral, and returned to the shop rather than attending.

“My old man wouldn’t want me to ignore the business anyway,” was all he had said. Such practical sense, had been the general consensus, was to be praised.

If his mother thought otherwise, as she stood alone throughout the funeral, she said nothing of it. She thanked those present, accepted the condolences, and returned home in silence.

She had raised two sons, but neither walked with her. One she had lost. The other was… busy.

* * *

“To tell you the whole truth, Mr. Cipher - Circles, and to think it was only last week I addressed your father like this! - your offer couldn’t possibly be more timely. I have been thinking about retiring for a while now.”

_Tell me something I don’t know. You’ve been babbling about retiring for months now_.

“Gotta love when things work out for everyone, huh?” Bill Cipher said instead, leaning on his cane. He eyed the shop’s wall, the one that was shared with the shop his old man had so kindly left him. Took him a while, but better late than never. Bill had just been considering leaving the house - even though, generally, one left the house only to marry and start a family of their own, and marrying was nowhere on Bill’s to-do list  - when the old man had had the good grace to get out of the way.

Convenient, that. His mother may as well be transparent, so he supposed he would just  stay until she kicked the bucket as well. The shop was already his and that was where he spent most of his time, anyway, especially now that he could finally do things his way. “I’ve had my eye on your place for a while now, to be honest,” he added.

That was true, really: Bill had first thought about buying the shop next door a few years before, to tear that wall down for more space and set up a bit of a side business. Sure, the shop did just fine selling hats and ties and trinkets like that, but that was also amazingly dull. A pawning business, on the other hand, had the potential to be both interesting and very, very lucrative.

Shame that his old man had been so set against the idea.

_“Don’t be ridiculous. Our clients are all respectable. It can’t possibly work.”_

_“How can you tell without trying?”_

_“I don’t need to. This is how our family has always worked. There is value to be found in traditions - they are a value in themselves.”_

_“Oh, yeah. The great values of selling overpriced trinkets to idiots who think that’s a fair price and letting your kid be taken away.”_

_“Bill.”_

_“Would you have tried to do something to stop it if you hadn’t had me as a backup plan, Pops?”_

_“You will never speak to me like this again.”_

_“That’s the millionth time you say that, you know. So, whatcha gonna do about it?”_

_Nothing, of course. He never did anything._

“... Mr. Cipher?”

Bill blinked, the other Triangle’s voice snapping him from not-so-fond memories, and tipped his hat. “Sorry, pal. I’m afraid I got lost in thought.”

The other’s eye widened for a moment, and then he reached to put a hand on Bill’s arm. “I figure it must be difficult, focusing on your business so soon after his death. He was an outstanding Equilateral. And he would be proud of you - you’re so much like him.”

Now that was one heck of an insult by Bill’s books, but he knew better than saying as much. “Heh. Business first, as he said,” he said instead, and held up his hand. “So, we’ve got a deal. Shake on it?”

They shook hands.

Bill fervently hoped that his old man was in his grave by that point, if anything so he could turn in it.

* * *

Melpomene returned to an empty, silent house.

She stood in the living room for several moments, eye fixed on the armchair her husband would sit on at the end of the day, but she couldn’t stand the sight for long. Her eye turned elsewhere, on a small vase at the far end of the room. She took it, and reached in.

Her hand closed around a key.

* * *

Bill was locking up the shop for the day when he heard a voice behind him calling out his name, felt a touch on his upper arm. He turned to see an elderly Triangle looking at him, the sympathy in his eye made all the more obvious by the net of wrinkles around it.

“Hey, Randy. Closed early today?”

“I heard about your father,” Randall said. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Bill shrugged his hand off. “Guess someone’s got to be,” he said.

“Not you, then?”

“Afraid Liam took up all the damns I was able to give. Have yet to get those back in stock,” he said, then, “Surprised _you_ care, Randy. Thought you gave a damn about Liam, too.”

Randall seemed to be weighing his words for a few moments before replying. “I cared for your brother. I do not agree with how this world works. I do not agree with how Liam was treated - but when it comes to his termination, they had no choice but to comply with what the Board decided.”

Bill scoffed, entirely unimpressed with the argument. “Hmph. Whatever. See you at the next meeting?”

“If you can attend. If you’d rather not--”

“I’ll be there,” Bill cut him off. “Got to celebrate now that the store is mine. I’ll bring the drinks,” he said, giving Randall a pat on the back, and turned to leave.

He didn’t hear the sigh that left Randall as he walked away, but even if he had he would have pretended not to.

* * *

_"... Mother? Can I see him?"_

_"May I see him. With all the books you read one would expect your grammar to be correct, if nothing else."_

Liam’s books were still where he left him, of course. Everything was just where he left it, or almost. The book he was halfway through when the Board had come for him was on the highest shelf, the corner of a page still folded to mark the spot he had reached. He must have known his chances of ever finishing it were slim to none, he must have known he couldn't possibly pass the Inspection, but he had still marked the page.

But then again, she could understand that. Hadn’t she, too, hoped against hope that he would pass the inspection after all? Hadn’t her husband?

_"... Was I this small when I was born?"_

_"You were very small, yes."_

_I am sorry, Mr. Cipher._

_Mom? Where’s Liam?_

_Billy…_

_You let them take Liam away!_

“We had no choice,” she choked out, her voice thick with anguish, fully knowing that the only reply she would get was more silence and--

“Didn’t think you remembered we had that room.”

* * *

Bill wasn’t too surprised when his voice caused his mother to recoil and turn, the book and key falling from her hands to clatter on the floor. He was a bit too busy being surprised to even have found the door to Liam’s room open, surprised that she was there at all. Liam was ten years dead, and the door had stayed locked all along, as far as he was aware.

She turned to look at him and blinked rapidly, as though at a loss for words. “I…”

“What do you go in there for? Dusting?” Bill asked, taking a step forward and inside the room. He hadn’t been there in years, not since he had sneaked in to look for Liam’s secret stash of books and notes, and he immediately noticed that the room wasn’t at all dusty as one would have expected. So she had been coming in to clean all alone, when no one else was there?

_You let them take Liam away, but kept cleaning his room?_

“... I see. Hey, nice idea. Would be a shame if all the stuff left in there got ruined. Do you remember whose stuff it was, anyway?”

“Bill--”

“There was another one. Did either of you even remember him?”

“It’s not appropriate to speak of it. Not with your father barely gone and--”

“Oh. I see. He’s an _it_ now, is that so?”

She stepped back, and avoided his gaze. “That is not what I meant to say. I… he…” she paused, then looked at him again. Her eye was veiled with tears. Bill wasn’t surprised to find it left him entirely unmoved. “You should have come to the funeral.”

“Liam never had a funeral.”

A sharp intake of breath, a recoil, as though he had just slapped her. “Your father. He just passed away, and you refused to--”

“My what? Don’t know who you’re talking about,” Bill cut her off, and laughed at her stunned expression. “Two of us can play this game, Ma. You sure you wanna keep this up?”

His mother took another step back, and shook for a moment. “You don’t care, do you?”

Bill shrugged. “Should I?” he asked, bringing up his hand to take a good look at his fingers. “I’ve got a business to run and all. Got enough on my mind.”

“He was your father.”

“He was your _son_.”

She fell silent, and looked away. “... You think we didn’t care, don’t you?” was all she finally said, her voice weak.

Bill shrugged. “I think you didn’t care _enough_.”

“He was an Irregular. I knew he was doomed the moment I first saw him. How could we bond with him knowing that? You can’t imagine--”

A scoff. “What I can imagine is that it must have been great when you got me. I was the golden boy. Maybe you’d have tried to do something to save him if I hadn’t been in the picture. But there I was, and you didn’t need him anymore.”

She squeezed her eye shut. Something dripped on the floor and, once again, what he felt was mild annoyance. “It’s not like that,” she choked out.

Bill rolled his eye. “Spare me. You gave me his same _name_. Took even that from him. You had given up on him the moment I entered the picture. Would have done the same with me, if our roles were reversed,” he said, and picked something up before she could say anything more - the key to Liam’s room. “I’m keepin’ this. Now get outta here.”

“Bill, please. Your father just died and I know you're upset - you _must_ be upset - just listen--”

“GET OUT!”

The sudden bout of anger surprised even him, because up until that moment he hadn’t been angry at all. Annoyed, yes, but afternoon’s good mood had still been lingering. He hadn’t known it was angry until his fury had exploded, blistering and unbridled. His hand clenched on the key, the key she had hidden from him all those years, with such force that something dripped from his clenched fist. He took no notice, and neither did his mother: her eye, wide and frightened, was fixed on his.

“Bill…” she tried again, her voice shaking - only to trail off when Bill, suddenly laughed. He couldn’t help it - it was just all so _funny_. He laughed and laughed and laughed until his sides hurt, and when he looked up again he would see his mother had stepped back, eye wide in what was nothing short of fear.

“You know - haha! - you know what’s funny, Ma?” he asked with a chortle, reaching up to wipe his eye. “That Liam cared about both of you a heck of a lot more than I did, for all you did to him. You - heh! - you got rid of the wrong kid. The one who’d give a damn about you and your excuses right now.”

“Bill…”

“That’s my name, yeah. You’ve been saying that a lot,” Bill said lightly, throwing the key up in the air and catching it with his other hand. “Now get out. You don’t _deserve_ to be in his room.”

She didn’t move at all: she stayed where she was, eye filling up with tears that Bill could have really done without. “You can’t do this.”

He waved the key in front of her eye. “Huh, yeah? Can. Legally, this place is mine now. Harsh law but it is law, huh?”

“There is nothing else I have to remember him by!”

“And you locked _me_ out of it for ten years,” Bill retorted, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall. Of course he had found a way to sneak in and take what he wanted - what _he_ needed to remember him by - but it wasn’t like she knew it. “Didn’t I get a memento, Ma?”

“I… we thought that maybe you would… you would forget…”

Bill scoffed. “You sure thought Liam to be _forgettable_ , didn’t you?”

She reached up to wipe her eye. “You… you were so little. Young children forget things. Remember when… you used to come in the kitchen when I was baking? You’d linger around and try to charm your way to a bite of cake any time--”

“Whoa, whoa. Stop right there,” Bill cut her off. “You’re not my real mom.”

That caused her to freeze, eye widening again. It was kind of funny how shocked she was because really, that was about the cheesiest line in the book even though he had never resorted to using it before that moment. “I…” she choked out, unable to say anything more, and Bill shrugged with a brief laugh.

“See? I can play dirty, too. So don’t try pulling the ‘good old times’ trick on me ever again. I don’t need your permission to get a slice of cake anymore. Or the whole thing, if I want it.”

She fell silent as though struck, and finally looked down. “... You hate me, don’t you?”

For a moment, Bill was taken aback by the direct question: he didn’t really think she’d have the guts to ask that directly. He stayed silent for a moment, then he shrugged. “Don’t go givin’ yourself too much importance there. Did you hate Liam?”

“No! I never-- I just--”

“Didn’t care enough. Yup. So there you have it,” Bill said with a shrug, spreading out his arms. “I don’t care either way. Now get out. I’m not going to repeat it again.”

“At least let me--” she tried, reaching down for the book she had dropped, the one Liam had been reading last - but Bill was faster, and put a foot down on it before she could pick it up. He leaned forward just as she looked up, their eyes less than half an inch apart.

_“No,”_ was all he had to say, and she jerked back as though she feared he’d strike her. As if, he thought - now that would be way below him, wouldn’t it? “This is mine now. You ain’t taking a single thing away from me ever again.”

His mother didn’t leave the room as much as she ran away from it. Bill watched her go, then picked up the book, placed it on Liam’s bed, and - after one last, long look - closed the door behind himself before turning the key into the lock.

He half-expected to try asking for it again at some point, but she did not: from that day onwards, she hardly showed herself out of her own rooms when he was at home. It worked fine for him, because people are easier to ignore when they’re out of the way. And besides, what he was dealing with may as well have been a ghost: as far as he was concerned, she had her husband had both died years before, when they let _them_ take Liam away.

* * *

When Melpomene died, not too long after her husband, many believed it to have been from heartbreak. There was sympathy for her son, of course, which he accepted in that somewhat impatient fashion of his before turning his attention back to arranging her funeral. He did not attend it.

She had raised two sons, but neither was there to bid her farewell.

She had lost both.


	11. Jailbirds

“Don’t eat that.”

Pyronica’s warning caused Bill’s hand to stop in mid-air, the load of bread half an inch away from his mouth. Not that it stayed a mouth for long, because he turned it back into an eye the next moment to cast her a quizzical glance.

“Why not? Is it poisoned or what?” he asked. Would kind of suck if it was, because it wasn’t often they got bread that wasn’t mouldy in the Infinetentiary.

“Just don’t eat it. I’ll show you why in a bit,” she said, and snatched it from his hand. “I’ll hold onto it.”

“... Are those apples you’ve got there?”

“And sugar. You’re not using your sachet, are you?”

“Ain’t you supposed to ask that before taking it?”

“I guess,” Pyronica said with a shrug, making the sachet disappear in a pocket before any of the guards in the lunchroom could notice, and turned to the others. “Anyone got anything?”

“Yeah,” 8 Ball grunted, making an orange roll to her across the table. Paci-Fire threw in another, and Teeth and Keyhole handed some sugar and bread each. Bill blinked.

“Is that some kinda offering so you don’t chew us up, or…?”

Pyronica snickered, reaching to pinch his side. “Aww, you’re such a newbie, it’s adorable! I’ll show you when--”

“Silence there!” a guard barked from the end of the room. “Time is almost up! Finish up your meal and then get in line back to your cells!”

8 Ball grunted, glancing at him sideways. “Could turn that one into a wet spot on the floor.”

“I have butchered millions on thousands moons,” Paci-Fire added, never to be outdone.

“Nah, forget about him,” Pyronica said with a shrug, and finished the rest of her slop in one gulp. “We’ve got all we need now, would be a shame if you guys were in isolation when the batch is ready.”

“Batch?” Bill repeated.

“You’ll see. Hey, aren’t you going to finish your slop? Can I have it?”

“... If you insist.”

* * *

“Okay, I’ll bite. What _are_ you doing? Some kind of very lousy juice?”

Pyronica grinned at him, lifting triumphantly the plastic bag she had filled up with tap water before throwing in the pieces of fruit and sugar. They were not supposed to have a plastic bag or any sort of bag for the matter, but she had stolen it from the laundry room the previous week and hidden it away in their cell. Their whole group had volunteered for duties there, though it sure wasn’t for love of cleaning: everyone in there knew that the laundry room was the closest to be found to a market place. Items, money and favors were exchanged there, and grievances were dealt with.

It was common knowledge that, with a little tip, one could get the guards to look elsewhere for a certain amount of time; what happened in the laundry room _stayed_ in the laundry room. And that included the occasional dead body. Because, after all, accidents happen… and not everyone was as lucky as Bill had been, finding himself good allies right on the first day.

“Something much better,” Pyronica sing-sang, and reached to grab the bread. “Just one last ingredient!”

“Are you putting _bread_ in the juice?”

She shrugged, throwing it in the bag. “Well, the important part is the yeast. That will kick in while the bread breaks down, sugar.”

Bill eyed suspiciously at the concoction. It looked fairly disgusting, and he fully expected it to look worse once the soaked bread began to break down, as she put it. “Wish I had a nose to wrinkle right now.”

That made her laugh as she sealed the bag shut. “Wait until you smell it in a couple of weeks! That will make you gag!”

“... You sound awfully happy about that.”

Pyronica shrugged, and proceeded to hide the bag in the small compartment she had made in the wall by pulling out the bricks and eating most of them. “Hey, the point of this ain’t smelling it. You’ve got to drink it,” she said, placing the remaining bricks so that they’d hide the hole in the wall and the bag in it.

Bill blinked. “I can think of quicker and less painful deaths, if I’ve got to be-- hey! No! Put me down!”

His protests were as usual dutifully ignored: Pyronica just laughed and picked him up, squeezing him tight enough to make him wheeze and doing a half-twirl that ended up with her bumping against the wall.

“Hahahahah! Have I told you just how _cute_ you are when you have no idea what’s going on?”

“A few dozen times,” Bill managed, kicking uselessly in mid-air. “Not so _tight_ , Ronnie!”

“Right, right,” she said with a dramatic sigh, and did loosen her grip. “And to think half the guys in this prison would love to be in your place, honey!”

Bill had his doubts over that - most of the guys in there seemed to kinda like the idea of not risking to become someone’s main course - but didn’t voice them. “So, what is it with the deadly potion thingie?”

“That’s prison alcohol, silly! Well, it will be in a bit. That why it’s got to rest for now - but it’s gonna be good, honest. Just like my mama used to make it!”

“... Your mother taught you how to make prison alcohol?”

Pyronica shrugged. “Was born in a prison, Billy boy. That’s the sort of thing that happens when your mama eats her partner.”

“Ah.”

“I mean, nothing personal! It’s just kinda how it goes where I’m from. Fun and games, and then you’re protein once there’s a bun in the oven. Or just when she gets a bit hungrier than usual. She didn’t know it was illegal in the dimension they had moved in,” she added, and lifted him up to that they’d be at the same eye level, giving him a toothy grin. “Didn’t know that when you tried to hit on me, did ya?”

Bill gave a snorting laugh. “Seriously? I just pointed out you were on fire.”

“Like I haven’t heard that before!” she crooned, and her grin widened, a finger poking him hard enough to make him squirm. “You _are_ so cute I could eat you whole!”

“But then you’d miss me, wouldn't you?” Bill asked, batting his eyelashes, and her grin turned into a roaring laugh.

“You could charm your way out of anything, huh?”

_Oh, I wish._

“Not outta this place, though,” Bill grumbled instead.

She shrugged. “Give it time, honey. And while we wait, what keeps us from having a drink?”

Well. Now that was a frame of mind Bill could get behind. It would be no Martini or Margarita party, but better than nothing.

* * *

“This smells like death.”

“Now you’re just being melodramatic.”

“ _Death_.”

“You ain’t even got a nose!”

“Maybe, if we add in some bleach…”

“Nope. We tried last time, remember? It was a bad idea.”

“I was fine.”

“You don’t count.”

“Smells like that one time I slaughtered--”

“Please, shut up.”

“C’mon, stop being so prissy! Just guzzle it down as usual,” Pyronica said, pouring the brownish liquid in a plastic glass, then turned to Bill with a grin. “You first!”

“Wha-- hey! Why me?” Bill tried to protest, taking a step back. He snuck a glance around, but of course there was no one else in the laundry room: the guards that should have been watching them had been paid off with the money Paci-Fire had beaten out of some newcomer the previous week.

“You’re the newbie,” 8 Ball grunted.

“And you never had any before,” Keyhole added.

“Yeah, got to go first!”

“One of us, right?” Teeth said, and began hitting the nearest surface while chanting. “One of us! One of us!”

“Huh, how about we throw a coin or--”

_“One of us! One of us! One of us!”_

“No! Hey, wait--”

They didn’t let him say anything else. Or maybe they did, but Bill just wouldn’t remember it.

He wouldn’t remember much of anything he said until the next morning.

Which, in a way, was a blessing in disguise.

* * *

“And I get back home and - hic! - get back home and poof!”

“Poof?”

“Poof! Gone!”

“Your bro was gone?”

“Yeeeah. Just gone. Ain’t that - hahahahahaha! And then - no, no, listen up - then no one said a _thing_ about it! Isn’t that _funny_?”

“Well, uh…”

“Yeah, I guess…”

“... That’s rough, buddy.”

“Naaaah! It’s flippin’ _hilarious_! And then they tell me to be reasonable about - hic! - about… whatever. Reasonable! I mean, seriously-- hey, hey, lemme have another...”

* * *

“And then-- and then-- no, no, hear me out-- and then I told that dumb baby that I… I… bwuh.”

“Bwuh?”

“Yeah, like… like… you know.”

“Bwuh.”

_“Bwuh.”_

_“I have killed millions on thousands bwuhs!”_

The roar of laugh that followed was loud enough to shake the walls, but no one came to check what was happening. First of all, because they had paid off the guards to let them have a good time. And, secondly, because no guard would be stupid enough to face them when even more unhinged than usual: they’d wait for it all to wear off, more likely, and get some other random prisoner to do the clean-up after them.

Bill sure didn’t envy anyone who’d have to pick up the feathers and tattered remains of all the pillows Teeth had decided to chew up just for the heck of it. Or at least, he wouldn’t have if he could focus just enough to think about whatever would come next. As it turned out, he could focus on nothing. Everything swam around him and nothing made sense, and he was loving it.

“Guys, guys! There is some left! C’mon! One more glass each!”

The last glass was the tipping point for 8 Ball: right after having it he decided it would be a good idea starting a pillow fight while brandishing a mattress. Teeth was thrown against the wall with a speed more or less comparable to that of a small meteor, and his teeth - which was to say, most of him - sank so deep into the wall it took everyone’s combined efforts to pull him down along with a good chunk of the wall. Once they were done laughing hysterically, that was it.

Still, it gave them an idea.

* * *

“Aaaand incoming!”

_Whoomp!_

“Haha! Watch and learn, 8 Ball! That was a lot faster than your last throw! Right, Billy boy?”

Still partly stuck in the mattress he had been thrown against from across the room, Bill lifted his hand to give her a thumbs-up. “Felt pretty - hic! - fast.”

8 Ball gave what was nothing short of a roar, and immediately seized Keyhole. “I’ll show you fast!” he snarled, and threw him with all his might at the wall they had lined up with mattresses. Proving, once and for all, that aim was not among his strongest points.

_Whack._

_Thud._

“... Whoops.”

“Hey, genius. The - hic! - the point with the mattresses is that we’re supposed to land on-- hic. Whatever. Is he still alive? Hey. You still alive?” Bill asked, poking Keyhole’s side. Keyhole twitched. “He’s alive!”

“I think I broke something,” Keyhole wheezed.

“He said he’s okay!”

“It’s getting dark…”

“He’s _peeeerfectly_ fine!”

“Then get him outta the way,” 8 Ball grunted, and grabbed Teeth. “That throw didn’t count! Now I’ll show you--”

“Hey, wait--”

_“Alright, this has been going on long enough! Everyone settle down and--”_

Several things happened all at once, a bit too fast for Bill’s intoxicated mind to follow, and he wouldn’t remember any of it the next day at any rate. It would have to be Pyronica to explain him that apparently they had been making too much of a mess and the guards had decided to barge in, bribes or not. Except that they had barged in just as 8 Ball was throwing Teeth against the mattress-lined wall, and that 8 Ball had turned just one moment before actually letting go.

According to her, the screams as one of the guards was hit by Teeth at breakneck speed with his, well, teeth clamping around his head had been hysterical. Enough to keep them all laughing well into their first night in the isolation ward, really. And, while Bill wouldn’t quite remember it the next day, he had no reason to doubt she was telling the truth.

* * *

“Uuugh…”

“My head.”

“My _eye_. Can someone turn off the light?”

“On it!” A gust of white fire flashed through the air, and a moment later there was a crash, followed by darkness. Not complete _darkness_ , since not much could be done about Pyronica’s own flames, but it was still far easier for everyone’s hangover. “Better?”

“Oh yes.”

“Way better.”

There was a collective sigh of relief, and a brief silence followed, eventually broken by 8 Ball.

“Hey, guys?”

“Yeah?”

_“Bwuh.”_

A series of snickers rippled through the holding cell, at least until Keyhole trailed off with a groan.“Oww. Everything hurts _everywhere_.”

“Will aim better next time.”

“How ‘bout you don’t throw me at all?”

“Don’t be a stick on the mud. It was fun, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, best party yet!”

“Should totally have another when the guards get those sticks out of their-- hey, get that elbow outta my ribs.”

“Sorry.”

“... Am I the only one who doesn’t remember half of what happened?” Bill asked, eye still shut. His question was met with a sudden silence, which was kinda odd. He cracked his eye open, ignoring the sense of nausea at the flickering of Pyronica’s flames. “... Guys?”

“I don’t remember everything either,” Paci-Fire spoke quickly.

“Yeah, same.”

“So, uh… you don’t remember talking about, like, anything in particular?”

Bill closed his eye again with a groan. “Oh man. Was it something about the pineapple and cheese again? Look, it was _one time_ , and it just kinda got out of hand and-- Hey! Who’s-- Ronnie, _seriously_ , let me go!”

“Nope!” Pyronica said, giving him a good squeeze. “You could use a hug, Billy boy!”

“Where did _that_ come from?” Bill protested, trying to squirm free of her grasp - only to freeze when he heard 8 Ball speaking.

“Oh! I can give hugs, too!”

“DOGPILE!”

_“Don’t even think abou--”_

Of course they didn’t think about it, because they never thought about _anything_ , and the next moment Bill found himself buried at the very bottom of a shifting, snickering and still very much hungover pile. “You’re all crazy,” Bill wheezed, giving up on any attempt at getting away.

“That’s why you fit right in,” Pyronica laughed, and Bill could do nothing but concede that she had a point.


	12. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. After reading [what the Axolotl had to say about Bill](https://66.media.tumblr.com/f47cda64ffc403dfde326ddc544b6895/tumblr_messaging_oau66fQ3M11r7r84d_1280.jpg) in  _Dipper and Mabel and the Curse of the Time Pirate's Treasure_ (do not click on that link if you want to find out reading the actual thing; you can read this without having to check that out, honest), of course I had to write something like this.  
>  I only had a vague idea of what I was going to do with Axolotl and man, this didn’t nudge me as much as it _shoved_ me in the right direction.

There is one spot in the Nightmare Realm where Bill Cipher finds himself wandering remarkably often.

It is not easy, finding a specific spot in his dimension: reality ripples constantly, coming apart and back together with no logic nor order behind it, but that matters little to him. If this is a realm, he's its king and god. Everything in it responds to his will, and he knows precisely where everything is at any point in time. Not that _time_ is really flowing anymore - would suck if his favorite gang of misfit were to grow old and die while he lived on, after all.

Speaking of which, good old Kryptos is nowhere as sneaky as he thinks he is.

"You know that I know you're following me, right?" he speaks out without bothering to turn, still hovering towards his destination. There is a small started noise, and then a slightly embarrassed chuckle. Moments later, Kryptos is hovering by his side.

"Sorry, didn't mean to pry or anything. It's just that I saw you passing by, and you looked d-"

"Dashing?"

"... Distracted."

"What, so you don't think I'm dashing?" Bill says, trying to sound as offended as possible.

Kryptos lifts his arms. "That, too. So, uh… why did we stop?"

Bill shrugs. "Cause we're there," he says, gesturing to what lies before them - which is precisely nothing: rubble and overgrown plants among swirls of color and shifting dark matter. He doesn't bother to explain anything, because really, Kryptos isn't supposed to be there. He just lifts his arms and something raises from the dark matter - something used to be a very dull and very familiar sight in a dull and familiar dimension long gone.

"Hey, is it- is that your house?"

"Yup," Bill says, gaze fixed on the octagonal structure, the gray walls and black front door. Nothing compared to the palace he's made for himself. Still… "You're excused, by the way."

"Huh?"

_"Get lost."_

One of Kryptos' best qualities, if anything, is that that he's quick to take a hint and comply without discussing. He mutters something about having forgotten Keyhole in the oven and leaves quickly. Good boy.

Inside, everything has been recreated how it used to be, down to the last detail. He doesn't pause in the living room for long - just enough time to take a look around - before heading down one corridor, pausing before one door. It is the room he recalls most clearly, and it is odd - because, as far as he remembers, it was never used for anything: it was always locked, and he was never allowed in until his parents died and he began using it for the secret meetings at his place.

… No, something else had happened before that. Bill frowns, trying to remember. Something did happen in there, he vaguely recalls - a fight with his mother, maybe? Yeah, something like it. That was when he took the key. What the argument had been about, though, he can't remember. Then again, if he can't remember, it was probably nothing important.

Bill reaches to pull down the handle, and he's not surprised when the door turns out to be locked. It is always locked: each time he wills the door to be unlocked, and each time the reality he wills into existence defies that one order.

 _Keep out_.

As if, Bill thinks, and makes the key appear out of thin air. The door unlocks, and he steps in.

"I'm home," he calls out to the empty room. He doesn't know what he says that every time, with no one to hear or even answer, but it feels like something he ought to say.

* * *

"So… where are you _from_ , really?"

"A dimension that's been… gone for a long time now, Sixer. Like, a really long time go, in a dimension far, far away."

Ford chuckles, gaze still fixed on the starry sky above them. Bill has been telling him about far away dimensions and galaxies for the whole night, so he's not especially surprised by the reference. According to him, the Star Wars franchise has gotten a few things surprisingly right. Still, it is a brief chuckle: something else he said is hard to miss.

"Gone?"

"Yeah. I mean, you could say it _changed_ , too. The physical space is still the same. It's just that there is nothing left of what made it… itself."

That sounds rather ominous, and Ford lifts himself on his elbows to take a look at Bill. He's resting on the hillside's grass, his hands folded behind his upper angle - or at least, a projection of his is. Sometimes it's hard to remember he's not _physically_ in his same plane of existence. "What of the people who lived in it?"

"All gone, too. There's just me now."

Bill looks absolutely unbothered, eye still fixed on the vastness of the universe above them, but Ford feels a chill running up his spine. Is he truly the last of a kind? For how has he been on his own? "Only you?"

He shrugs. "There's another guy, come to think of it. Or two, if the mismatched thing counts."

"And… how did it happen?"

Bill doesn't reply right away: he just closes his eye for a few moments, then he opens it - and all that Ford can see in it is fire. "I tried to warn them," Bill says, his voice oddly deadpan. "I tried to warn them all. They didn't want to listen."

Still many years away from learning the true fate of the Second Dimension, Ford can only assume that Bill had foreseen some sort of disaster, and that his warnings had fallen on deaf ears. What he won't realize is that, in Bill's mind, that is precisely what happened. "I… I'm sorry I brought it up. It must have been horrible. Watching it happening, I mean."

Bill blinks once, and his eye returns to normal. Once again, he doesn't seem bothered at all. "Hey, it's been a long time. Like, a _really_ long time. Don't busy your brain with it, IQ," he adds with a shrug. "Kinda brought it upon themselves. I tried. They wouldn't _listen_. But you're gonna listen to me, right, Brainiac?" he adds, sitting up.

"Of course!" Ford says quickly, and Bill laughs.

"That's how I like it, Sixer! You're smarter than the whole bunch of 'em was. You're gonna change this world for the better. Hey, look, the Big Dipper! Did I tell you about that one time..."

* * *

_"Billy, you really have to go now."_

_"No."_

_"Mom and dad are going to get mad if they find you here. You've got to go back to your room before they wake up."_

_"No. I don't wanna go," Bill repeated, and clung to Liam's arm, eye squeezed shut. That took Liam by surprise, and he found himself blinking down at his brother._

_"What's gotten into you? We have no time. If you go back to your room now, I promise I'll-"_

_"I don't wanna go! They're gonna lock me out. Don't let them lock me out!"_

_"Bill, what are you- who would- are you crying? Billy?"_

_Bill just tightened his grip on his arm. "Five more minutes," he begged, but wasn't Liam he was talking to. Not really._

* * *

"I don't _want_ to go."

"And you'd rather keep stalling here, in the illusion you have made for yourself?"

"How many times have I told you to go away?"

"Approximatively two-hundred."

"I can _make_ you leave."

"You can't. You invoked me."

"Lalala! I can't hear you!"

The Ancient sighs, leaning down. That of a monstrous dog is only one of his forms, but he has grown quite fond of it: it is one of those the humans who worshipped him in times long gone identified him with. He rather liked those people, distasteful habit of tearing out hearts aside.

"This bubble of yours is already cracking. _You_ are cracking, Bill Cipher. Reality is leaking in. It has a way of doing that. After a trillion years, you should know this."

"I know _everything_."

"And understand nothing. That is why children were able to escape the trap you're falling into right now. You don't understand humans as you didn't understand your kind."

"They were the ones who didn't understand! They didn't understand a thing!"

Cipher's voice is different now, broken up and more shrill than before. The Ancient turns to glance at him and, sitting on the non-existent floor of mist and hugging his knees tightly, is a Flatlander child - the yellow glow gone, the grayness of his surface almost making him disappear in the fog.

Bill Cipher, at his most vulnerable. Bill Cipher, as he was when reality dealt him the first blow.

The Ancient stares at him for a moment, then he wills his form to shift into something less terrifying to behold - another of the forms the humans who worshipped him once gave him. A pink tail curls around the child like a blanket, and he doesn't flinch away. He speaks, however, and he still sounds angry. It is not a surprise; the Ancient doubts he'll ever cease being angry.

"I liked it there! I liked home!" Bill Cipher snaps, furiously rubbing his eye. "They ruined everything - nothing would have happened if they hadn't taken Liam away!"

A sight, a shake of a great head. "You are a liar, and you're lying to yourself. You would have come to hate your world either way, in the end. You would have grown in it and its rules would have chafed you like chains. Everything you have done, you would have done either way. You are simply idealising your ignorance."

_"I'm not ignorant!"_

"But you were, and you miss that. Of course you do. Most people believe the world to be better than it is when know nothing of its darkness. Your brother left that out from all of his stories, didn't he? Perhaps he wanted to forget about it as well, and to shield you. You loved those stories."

"If they hadn't taken him, I- It would have been all different, we could have changed it, they just had to listen! My dimension and the Sphere and that stupid baby, if they only _listened…_!"

"Blaming everyone except yourself, after all these years?" the Ancient sighs again. "The blame rests on you, Cipher, deny it as you might. If you wish to shirk it, you cannot simply remain-"

"I don't care!" Cipher snaps, and his voice breaks and fades for a moment before he speaks again, a challenging note back in it even as it shakes. "I want to go back."

"You know you cannot."

"Then I'm gonna stay here. This is how it was supposed to be! You can't make me leave!"

The Ancient remains silent for a moment, then flicks the tip of his tail to wipe the boy's eye. "... Perhaps you're right on one thing, after all. You are not ready to come out of here," he finally says, and lies down. "Very well. Go back to sleep, then. Dream of your brother. Dream of home. I'll be waiting."

"I am _never_ coming out."

"We shall see. Now sleep."

He does, curling up beneath the Ancient's tail, and he is at peace again. For time being.


	13. 915 Days

_One year today._

The realization hit Ford while he was staring at the calendar for entirely unrelated reasons - trying to figure out when the next new moon would be, for _science_ \- but once it did, lycanthropy was firmly pushed out of his mind.

Had it truly been a year - _a year already_ \- since his muse had found his way to him? It felt like it couldn’t possibly be more than two or three months at the very most. Each day had been so filled with wonders, so many things to learn and see and a guide to help him through it all, that time had simply flown by.

And there he was, a year later, having come such a long way and with so much yet to do.

_Because of Bill. I had hit a dead end. Where would my research be now if it wasn’t for him? Where would I be?_

Stanford Pines glanced at the small shrine he had put together for Bill. He knew many might find it… somewhat excessive, but it still came nowhere close to expressing exactly how grateful he was that a creature of infinite knowledge would find him - him of all humankind - worthy of _sharing_ that knowledge with.

_One year tomorrow. The best of my life, and what do I have to give back?_

Nothing, of course. There was nothing worthwhile he could give back because there seemed to be nothing Bill really wanted or needed, as far as he could tell. He had no need for anything physical, being on a different plane of existence; there was no knowledge Ford could share with him that Bill didn’t have access to already.

He remembered, very vaguely, asking his father as a boy what had been the point of _qorban_ in days of old - surely a god would need no offering from man, much like they wouldn't need an ant to surrender a bread crumb. His father had grunted before speaking, as he often did.

“That is not the point. It is about _deference_ ,” he had said, and that was the only answer he could be bothered give. Later that evening, seeing him asleep on his armchair, Stanley had said something on how speaking so many words at once had probably tired him out.

But then again Bill hadn’t come to him as a god, although that was what Ford intimately believed him to be. He had come to him as a muse, as a guide and as a _friend_. There were times when that felt like an even greater gift than the knowledge he was granting him. How can you even start to pay someone back for something so great you can barely even wrap your mind around it? How can you--

“Hey, smart guy!”

“GAH!”

“Whoa! Try not having that heart attack some sixty-something years early! What’s so interesting about that calendar anyway? Oh! OH! Is it Summerween yet? Is it? You gotta let me borrow your body, buddy! There’s this _weirdo_ who goes around on Summerween night - you’d love to meet him, I betcha! - and I kinda still have a bone to pick with him over-- Aww, shucks. Still three weeks away. That’s _forever_. Hey, what’s so funny?”

It took Ford some effort to stop laughing. “I’m sorry,” he said, adjusting his glasses. “It’s just… one would think three weeks aren’t such a long time for a being older than entire galaxies.”

Bill shrugged, hovering a couple of feet above the calendar Ford had dropped on the desk. He wasn’t _truly_ there, of course: he was but a projection of Ford’s own mind - but the illusion was so convincing, it was hard to remember that.

“So what? It’s the _longest_ time when you’re looking forward to something. Time is relative. I’ve been saying that for millennia, really, but none of your kind was actually smart enough to listen until that guy with funny hair, like, whatchacallit...”

“... Albert Einstein?”

A loud _pling_ rang out, and Bill’s pupil turned into an exclamation mark for a moment. “Oooh, right! Correct answer, IQ! That was the guy. Not bad. He was actually kinda fun. So many of the guys were such sticks in the mud, and-- whoa, okay. What’s wrong?” he asked, frowning.

Ford cleared his throat, and immediately busied himself gathering the scribbled papers strewn across his desk. “Nothing,” he said, but of course it was a lie. All of a sudden, he felt foolish for making the anniversary of their meeting such a big deal. If a year had flown by for him, a mortal, then it had to be truly nothing to a being as ancient as Bill - the blink of an eye, and that was it.

Bill gave a long, exaggerated sigh. “Seriously, Ford? I see it all, let alone that pout of yours.”

“I-- I just-- I am most certainly not pouting. I was just-- hey!”

A loud click and a bright flash flash coming from Bill’s suddenly blank eye caused him to recoil and shut his eyes. When he opened them again, he could see a picture of himself in Bill’s eye, and… well… he did suppose some _might_ describe that as pouting. Bill blinked, and his eye was back to normal.

“So, care to tell me what the problem is? I mean, I _could_ just look into your brain, but…”

“No need,” Ford said quickly. Being found out was embarrassing enough, and he didn’t need Bill to search his mind on top of it. “I was just wondering… how well do you remember the people you inspired?”

Bill blinked. “Huh?”

“Well, you choose a brilliant mind every century to inspire, and I understand it must have been a lot…”

“Hah! You bet!” Bill laughed. “A whole lot of them. Gets kinda hard remember them all and…” he paused suddenly, eye widening, then looked back down at him. When he spoke again, he sounded even more amused. “Ooooh, I see! You’re wondering if I’m gonna forget about you a couple thousand years down the road, Fordsy?”

“Well…” Ford looked down. “That would make sense, would it not? You are eternal, and I--”

“You can be, too.”

“Huh?” Ford looked up and was startled to see Bill’s eye barely an inch away from his face. The pupil dilated, and Ford could see his reflection in it like in a black mirror.

“Listen up and listen good, Sixer, because I’m pretty sure I already said this at least once. The others were well and good, but you’re _it_ , all right? Once we’re done, you’ll have changed the world. Anything will be possible for you, my pal,” he added, and reached out with an incorporeal hand as though to flick his nose. “Takes less to be eternal than you might think. And really, your face ain’t one I would forget. Until the end of time, right?”

Ford realized he was smiling only because he could see his reflection doing as much. “I don’t think I ever actually thanked you for everything you’ve done,” Ford said. “You have made a lifetime’s dreams seem achievable in only one year. I don’t know how I could possibly repay you, but if there’s anything I can--”

Bill laughed, his eye closing and then opening again, the pupil back to normal. “Aww, Sixer, you’re _adorable_. You’re already repaying me. I mean, what’s a muse without a mind to inspire? And what’s inspiration without someone brilliant enough to turn it to practice? That’s my ultimate goal, and you’re making it _reality_. I’d say we’re even. But hey, if I ever need an extra favor or something, I’ll keep the offer in mind. You do the same, all right? Anything at all,” Bill added, and gave an odd, one-eyed wink. His hand ghosted through Ford’s hair. “After all, isn’t this what friends are for?”

* * *

_Two years tomorrow_.

The thought caused Ford to smile at the calendar. He had to look rather stupid, really, and only a couple of weeks earlier it wouldn’t have mattered - but he was no longer alone there, and therefore he had to be careful to act normally. As normally as one could act while working on an interdimensional portal, of course.

Someday, perhaps, he would be able to tell Fiddleford the truth; tell him about Bill, about the divine intervention that would guide him into achieving greatness. He would tell the world about him, so he would get the credit he deserved: it seemed unfair that he should be known to him only, after inspiring so many great minds with his brilliance.

That was the very least he could do, after all. In two short years, Bill had changed his life for good - and would allow him to change the world. Everyone would know his name, then, and he would make sure they'd know that of his Muse as well.

It was only a matter of time.

* * *

“Well well. Two years and a half yesterday, my pal. Feels _literally_ like yesterday, huh?”

It did not; it felt like a lifetime, a very long one filled with regret. But, as he heard Bill’s voice ringing out, Ford had no time to muse on that: all he could feel was dread, all he could think was that he must have fallen asleep and he really, truly shouldn’t have. Sleeping lowered his defenses. Sleep allowed Bill to sneak _in_.

“Get out of my mind, Cipher,” Ford gritted out, eyes fixed on the page before him - the one covered in codes and invisible ink. But it was fading already, as his surroundings turned into something else - his own mindscape. Except that now it looked nothing like it did before; what had been open space and knowledge was now made of narrow paths in fields shrouded in fog, locked door and yet more doors leading to nowhere. Anything at all to make it more difficult for that wretched _monster_ to navigate, more difficult for him to find what he was looking for.

But now Ford had fallen asleep, he had failed to stay awake, and he had taken the chance.

“Sheesh, this ain’t how you greet your _blessed muse_ , you know! And what happened to the first name bas--”

“You’re no muse. You’re a monster, and a liar,” Ford seethed, turning. Bill was hovering behind him, above him, his eye crinkled in amusement. He was always amused, always, damn him. Like he was watching a rat struggling to escape a snare, and loving every second of it.

“Hey now, gotta protest there. First off, you forgot ‘snappy dresser’,” Bill said, adjusting his bowtie. “And second, that’s going a bit too far. The ‘liar’ part, I mean. Never lied to you, buddy. Just, how would you say? Withheld some information. Plenty of the stuff I told you was true. For example, you look terrible right now. And that’s the truth. When was last time you’ve had a night’s sleep, Fordsy? Had a decent meal without feeling watched? And don’t even get me started on how you’re looking for help at the bottom of a bottle, because that’s actually kinda sad. It’s not even good stuff. May as well put that bottle to your head and pull the trigg--”

“The portal was never for my research!” Ford snapped. He wouldn’t allow Bill to sidetrack him, to make him focus on anything but how much he hated him and how much he needed to keep him _out of his mind_. “You were using me to create an opening between this world and yours!”

“Yup! And that’s the stuff I withheld, true enough. Nothing keeping you from doing research, though. Said you were gonna change the world, didn’t I?”

“You manipulated me!”

Bill shrugged. “Your own fault for making it too easy, Sixer. And hey, didn’t I tell you once that you were already repaying me? I gave hints, at the very least. You’ve got to hand me that. Not my fault if Stanford Pines, PhD in Gullibleness, failed to pick those up. Bit too busy getting your ego stroked, huh, IQ? Still a sore spot, that?”

Ford clenched his teeth. “I’ll stop you, Cipher,” he gritted out. “If it’s the last thing I ever do, I will stop you. I won’t allow you to--”

“To do what? Make this boring world a better place?” Bill cut him off, rolling his eye. “And here I thought you were marginally smarter than the average meatbag, Fordsy.”

_You used to tell me I was the most brilliant mind you had ever encountered_.

That was a poisonous thought and most of all it was painful, and Ford forced himself to ignore it. “A better place,” he repeated instead, his voice a low growl. “You’re insane.”

“Oooh, someone had a revelation! Congrats, genius,” Bill laughed, and began circling him. “Of course I’m insane. That is why I see everything so much more clearly than you ever could from the mental cage you’ve built your nest in. You and your limited kind - do you have _any_ idea what you’re missing out?”

“It it’s _chaos_ we’re missing out, I’d sooner keep--”

“Oh, please,” Bill cut him off, and this time something was different: this time he sounded annoyed. “You call it chaos, I call it _fun_.”

“It is insanity.”

“Your boring world is _already_ insane, just not in the fun way. Such wasted potential, and you want to keep it as it is! The same world where you’re ridiculed for something as dumb as an extra finger!” Bill exclaimed, throwing up his arms. “You’ve got a chance to help me liberate it, Stanford! You can be here to see it changing! You can be join the fun - you can be eternal! There will be no limit to what you’ll be able to do. Isn’t _this_ what I promised you?”

The laughter that left Stanford held no joy whatsoever. It was bitter and sounded cold to his own ears, a stark contrast to the fury boiling hot in his chest. “Is it what you promised everyone? Your presence throughout history, your contracts, the people you inspired - all leading up to this, wasn’t it? You had a hand in the advancement of mankind since its beginnings, and it was all leading up to the portal. The world is your chess board and I was only your latest pawn. Did you promise each and every one of them the same things you’re promising me now?”

He expected a scathing answer, mockery, perhaps more laughter - but instead, Bill remained silent for a few moments, eye fixed on him. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter than before. Not somber, never that, but still something that came as close to it as he seemed capable of. But then again, what had Ford ever _known_ of what Bill Cipher was capable of? Even now, it felt like he had barely scratched the surface.

“Funny you should bring that up, Sixer. You asked me something once - how well do I remember the people I inspired? Well enough, believe me. And I remember what happened to a whole bunch of ‘em.”

Ford opened his mouth to snap at him, tell him to leave him be, but words died in his throat when something appeared in Bill’s eye - the portrait of a woman he recognized right away. Not because he had ever met her, of course, but because that portrait had been in one of his books.

“Ada Lovelace, the first programmer. Did it all with pen and paper - pen and paper! The things she could have done, Stanford, greater things than anyone else at her time could imagine - she wanted to explore ‘the unseen worlds around us’, in her own words,” Bill said, and blinked. Something else appeared in his eye - fire, and what looked much like a stick figure going up in flames. When he blinked again to stare at him, his slit pupil looked even thinner than usual - barely even visible. “I knew someone like her once, you know. You’d have liked her. But she never got a chance - neither got a chance - and you know why? You know what the problem was? Why they were never taken seriously enough? C’mon, the answer is easy! A little anatomical difference or two and _that_ was it!”

Whatever turn Ford had expected the unpleasant conversation to take, that was not it. “What does this have to do with your--” he began, only to cut off when Bill blinked again, and something else appeared in it - the image of a dark-haired man. That, too, was a face Ford had seen in books and greatly admired.

“Oh, and Alan. Don’t even get me started on good old _Alan_ . Father of the computer! Cracked an impossible code! He won you guys a _war_ \- shortened it by years. Millions of lives saved! What a hero! And what thanks did he get, Stanford? C’mon, tell me. You _know_ what kind of thank you he got - because he was not _in the norm_. Much like yourself, huh? Fancy that.”

“Enough!” Ford growled. “This has nothing to do with--”

“Indecency, they called it. Just another way to say he was _irregular_ . Suicide, they said - but I know, you know, _everyone knows_ who gave him the push, and it wasn’t me! Do you like it, Stanford? This is _history_. This is no lie. Is _this_ the kind of world you’re trying to keep?”

“What _is_ it you’re driving at, Cipher? Am I supposed to believe you’re here to make it right?”

Rather than answering, Bill blinked once again - and Stanford Pines saw himself in his eye, as he had been as a child many, many years ago, shame etched in his features.

_“But I_ am _a freak. I just wonder if there's anywhere in the world where weirdos like me fit in.”_

Despite everything, despite all the years that had passed, reliving that moment hurt more than anything Bill had said until that moment. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out, and Bill was quicker to resume talking.

“Ain’t that what you’ve always wanted, Fordsy? Cross the line between a freak and something _extraordinary_ ? I can give you that - a world where you not only fit in, but are _looked up_ to! C’mon, prove you’re actually a smart guy. Just listen to me one more time!”

_I tried to warn them all. They didn't want to listen._

_I… I'm sorry I brought it up. It must have been horrible. Watching it happening, I mean._

_Kinda brought it upon themselves. I tried. They wouldn't listen. But you're gonna listen to me, right, Brainiac?_

“... Your world. Your dimension. It wasn’t destroyed by something you tried to warn them about, was it?” Ford found himself speaking, gaze fixed on Bill. He didn’t think he could feel any more horror that he already did, but oh, he had been so wrong on so many things already. “It was destroyed _because_ they wouldn’t listen to you. It was _you_.”

Bill narrowed his eye. “I liberated it. Made it a better world.”

“If it’s so good, why do you want _this_ one?”

A scoff. “Hah! Why, he asks! That’s because… ‘cause... I…”

Ford found himself staring, horror turning into something akin to surprise as he watched Bill frowning, as he watched him struggling to find words and failing. For some reason - some reason Ford couldn’t even begin to guess - Bill Cipher _did not know how to answer._

_I have caught him off guard_.

“... Why?” he found himself asking, barely daring to breathe. Not that he needed to in the mindscape, but habit was one funny thing. “If you have all answers, certainly you can tell me _why_ you want this dimension.”

Bill’s confused frown turned into an angry one. “I… I don’t _need_ a reason! I take what I want! That dumb baby had no right to lock me out of it - not after everything I did to get there!”

“Baby? Locked you out? Why did you want to get here in the first place? Why--” Ford began, but he didn’t get to finish the sentence, because the next moment Bill shrieked - a noise so terrible that it seemed to shake the fabric of the universe, and everything around the two of them was suddenly burning.

“SHUT UP!”

Ford stepped back, trying to fight the urge to turn and flee before what was before him - a Bill Cipher so much bigger than he had ever seen him, towering over him, surface black as night and eye red as fresh blood.

“NOBODY WILL LOCK ME OUT AGAIN! I AM GOING TO _OBLITERATE_ THAT DOOR AND EVERYTHING STANDING IN MY WAY!” The monster before him thundered. “THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE, BRAINIAC! EITHER TAKE IT OR GET OUT OF MY WAY!”

Terror constricting his throat, Ford was unable to snap back loudly as he had wished to - but the words that left him were perfectly audible, and he meant each one of them.

“Never. I will stop you or die trying. This is all my fault - I should have never summoned you, much less believed you. It should not have happened.”

The image of a black skull flashed where Bill’s pupil should have been. “DON’T YOU DARE--!”

“THIS SHOULD NEVER HAVE HAPPENED!”

_“SHUT UP!”_

Ford’s scream was covered up by what was nothing short of a roar, and suddenly flames were closing down on him, so quick that he didn’t have the time to cry out. Not in his mind, at least.

As he jerked awake, he screamed loudly enough to hurt his throat.

* * *

Nine-hundred and fifteen days earlier, Stanford Pines had awakened from a peaceful nap full of wonder, convinced he had received a visit from a muse that would guide him to greatness. Now he awoke screaming, flailing his arms to ward away a monster and flames that were not there.

It took a few moments and a fall from his chair to realize that he was once again awake and, at least physically, _safe_. For now.

Cold sweat dripping down his brow, Ford forced himself to stand on shaky legs, pressing a hand against his mouth. Much of what he had dreamed was already growing fuzzy and confused, details slipping from his mind like water through fingers; and while part of him dreaded it - _there was something I had found out something about Bill something he did something important why can’t I remember_ \- a much greater part of his mind was simply thankful for it.

It had been terrifying; that much he remembered clearly. There had been a glimpse into what Bill truly was, a glimpse of what Fiddleford must have seen that fateful day through the portal - no wonder he had wanted to forget all about it! And he had tried to warn him, he truly had; if only Ford had just listened to him, to the one true friend he had! That horror could now enter their world, and it was no one's fault but his own.

_Someone very close to you is deceiving you._

_Fear the Beast with just one eye_.

_You have chosen the wrong allies._

_Until the end of time._

_Don't forget what happened to Icarus._

_My Muse was a monster!_

Shakily, Ford reached for his pen, the one with the invisible ink, and wrote a warning he hoped no one would ever need to read.

_IF HE GAINS PHYSICAL FORM THEN ALL IS LOST._


	14. Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's going on vacation? I am going on vacation. For two weeks. Fucking finally.  
> That means that I can't promise I'll be able to update next week - might be too busy cooking slowly under the sun. I'll try to, but I can make no promises!

Liam is the only one home when Billy sits up on his own for the first time.

Moving autonomously is not at all easy for babies: their shapes keep them from rolling over, so until their limbs grow strong - and coordinated - enough, they are generally stuck on their back unless an adult moves them. Bill makes up for that by moving a lot anyway, though: he flails his arms, claps his hands and kicks his legs for hours at end. He looks a lot like he's cycling and he's actually pretty funny to watch, especially since he also makes noises: he giggles and squeaks and chirps, eye wide like his flailing limbs are some sort of miracle to behold.

That's why Liam sneaks in the nursery from time to time, to take a look at him when their parents aren't home, because sometimes he needs some cheering up and Billy always works wonders on his mood. Plus, he likes listening to his stories - or, if anything, he never cries while he speaks. It's a win/win situation.

"Hi, Billy."

"Babababababa!"

"I have a new story to tell you. Don't tell anyone I'm here," Liam says, closing the door behind himself. Of course he won't say a thing: he can't even speak yet. But he still likes saying that, like they're in one of the stories he's read where there are secrets to be kept, blood pacts and danger and-

A delighted squeal makes him wince, and he turns back to the crib. "Don't make too much noise! I- hey! You're sitting up!"

Bill giggles and claps, looking supremely pleased with himself, only that he loses balance as a result and falls on his back again with a yelp. He kicks with his legs again, and Liam laughs a bit before he walks up to the crib and reaches in to help him sit up once more.

"Don't throw your weight back again, all right? Try to - Bill, no! Are you- wait. Are you falling back on purpose?"

Bill laughs and holds up his hands for Liam to get him sitting up again. Liam grumbles, then he helps him sit up again. And again. And _again_. Because Billy keeps falling back and laughing, which is kinda pointless, but it's making Liam laugh as well and all is good.

* * *

_Taptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptap-_

"Bill, no!"

_Crash_.

_"UAAAAAAAAAAAH-!"_

"Oh no - no no no no no, don't cry, it's alright, please don't cry!"

_"... AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-"_

Liam's plea falls to deaf ears, because Bill keeps bawling, loud as a siren and thrice as terrifying. There is no doubt in his mind that, should their mother come back home early to find him bawling, she'd immediately assume he did something. But he didn't do anything, he just took him out of his playpen and... and… how was he supposed to expect Bill would actually stand up for the first time and try to _run_ before he even knew how to walk?

"You shouldn't run! Don't do that again! Oh Circles, please _please_ tell me you're not hurt!" Liam frets, and picks him up. It takes him an effort to do so without toppling, because his Irregularity makes him lean on one side and keeping balance is always tricky, but right now he's to anxious to care.

Is Billy all right? Has he bent a side? That's the kind of thing that can make you Irregular and no, please, what will happen to him if he's become Irregular because of the fall? What will happen to them both? He will never, ever forgive himself if Billy got hurt so badly on his wa-

"OUCH!"

Liam yelps when Bill suddenly reaches up to stick his finger in his eye, and two things happen at the same time: he topples back, landing on the floor with Bill on top of him, and Bill laughs. Not that Liam feels like laughing with him this time, but there _is_ some relief: the kind of blow that can bend one's side or angle hurts a lot, and Bill wouldn't be laughing if he had suffered an injury like that.

"Don't you ever give me a scare like that again. Ever," Liam wheezes, and Bill giggles again before trying to poke his eye again.

"No! Hey! Stop!"

"Babababa!"

"That's not even a word," Liam grumbles, and takes him back to his playpen. He shouldn't have let him out of it to begin with, and he does his best to ignore Billy's protests when he puts him back in.

"Baaa!"

"No. You stay there before you get hurt."

"Laaaaaah!" Bill protests again, sitting up and holding his arms through the bars. "Leeeeh!"

"I'll tell you a story if you just-"

"Leee-aaah!" Bill calls out again, and Liam blinks.

… Wait a minute.

"Is… is that my name? Are you trying to say my name?" he asks, and the worry fades away into excitement. He crouches in front of Billy and points at himself. "Liam," he says slowly. " _Liam._ "

"Leeah!"

"Yes! That's it! Well, close!" Liam exclaims, elated. His parents have been trying to get him to say 'mom' or 'dad' for weeks now, but Bill never said any actual word until now, and it is _his_ name of all things. Something prickles in his eye, but he dismisses it and reaches back in the playpen to pull Billy out. "Alright, you win. I'll show you how to walk. Don't try running again."

He does try running again, of course, but this time Liam expects him to and catches him on have some time to practice before their mother is back and he has to put him back in the playpen before running off to his room, and by the end of it Billy has been able to walk across the room and back while holding onto Liam's hands. Small steps, but it's still progress. Neither of them falls again, and Bill is delighted. So is Liam, really.

Their parents are impressed by how quickly Bill's learned to walk, but not especially amused when he takes to calling out what's clearly Liam's name at random times of the day and night. But, for once, Liam doesn't mind their disapproval.

* * *

Liam is used to falling over.

Keeping balance has always been difficult, but the more he grows the worse it gets. He knows that, if he does pass the Inspection - he won't, he _knows_ he won't, but hope is always there and makes it worse by refusing to leave - he will need a cane to walk properly in his adult years.

He could use one right now, really, but he doesn't want it. He doesn't want yet another reminder of his limitations, and he'll take the occasional fall and bruise over that any time, because you can still rationalize that, explain it away with a toy left in the way or a slightly raised carpet he might have tripped over. It is easier this way.

Bill, on the other hand, doesn't seem to think so.

"Hey! Are you hurt? Did you fall over again?"

"I didn't fall over _again_ , I just… fell over."

"Again."

"... Look, can you just give me a push?"

Bill huffs, but he walks behind Liam's back and gives him a shove as powerful as he can - which isn't much, really, but enough to help Liam getting back on his feet. His lower left angle hurts and he must be leaning on one side more than usual, because the next moment Bill is next to him and gripping his hand. There is just about nothing he could do to keep Liam upright should he lose balance again, but he's there and he's trying, and it is enough.

"I'm okay, Bill. I don't need you to teach me how to walk," Liam says in what he hopes comes across as a joking tone, and picks up the book he dropped in the fall. Bill lets go of his hand, but he keeps scowling.

"Why do you keep falling?"

Liam sighs. "You know why. My Irregularity-"

"No, I mean - why do we fall _down_ if we lose balance?" Bill cuts him off. "Who decided that?"

"... The laws of physics, Bill."

"And who _voted_ those?" Bill huffs, crossing his arms. "You keep getting hurt and it's not fair!"

Liam can think of many things that are not fair, but dwelling in it never did him any good. He just chuckles. "No one got to vote for _those_ laws, Billy. It's just how it works."

"And why?"

"Because… because that's how it is."

"But why?" Bill insists, then blinks in what is both sudden comprehension and absolute, comical confusion. "What- you don't _know_?" he asks, and for a moment he almost sounds betrayed by the realization Liam is not, in fact, the source of all existing knowledge.

No one has figured that out, Liam is about to say, but he doesn't get to: a moment later his father's voice rings out from the next room over, and catches Bill's full attention - which is about as fickle as the weather to begin with.

"Bill! Are you coming?"

"Oh! Dad's taking me to the shop today! To show me how it works!" Bill exclaims, entirely unaware of the change in Liam's eye at those words - because their father has never taken him to the store, not once. Nor… nor anywhere else, for the matter. But saying anything about it would just ruin it for his brother, so he keeps quiet.

"Sounds like you should hurry up, then," he says instead. Part of him hopes that Bill will ask him to come, too - if he insists enough their father might even relent - but he does no such thing: he just turns around and runs off, his questions and the incident of Liam's fall already erased from his mind.

Or so Liam thinks.

* * *

"Daa-aad! Can I have this?"

There is a sigh before his father speaks, that only a long-suffering parent can manage. "And what for, Bill? You hardly need a cane. Let alone one that's almost as tall as you. Besides, it is on sale. Put it back in place and-"

"It's not for me! It's for Liam."

"Oh?"

"So he doesn't fall over again!"

"... I see."

"So, can I have it? It's gonna be a surprise," Bill says, and trots to the counter to put the cane on it. "For his birthday. Keep it aside."

"And I don't suppose you plan on paying for it?"

"Put it on my tab."

"Oh, you have a tab now?"

"I'm opening one!"

That makes his father laugh. There is something else beneath that laugh, the bitterness that comes from the knowledge Liam Cipher is very unlikely to live until his next birthday, but Bill has no was of knowing it, and detects nothing of the sort. He just beams when his father takes the cane in his hands.

"Very well. I'll keep this aside for him."

"Don't tell him anything! It will be a surprise!"

"Not one word."

_Not one word_ is precisely what he speaks later, when Liam is taken, when Bill rages and demands an explanation that will never satisfy him. Not one word is spoken, even to himself, when he returns to the shop the day after the Inspection. He takes the cane from behind the counter and hides it away in the back of the store.

He will never sell it, but he doesn't want to see it, either.

It remains stored away for years, until the day it burns along with everything - and everyone - in the store, the prelude to the fall of a dimension that will never again rise from its ashes.


	15. Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've wanted to write something that included McGucket for a long while now, but I had decided to wait for Journal 3 to be out before I did - so that I could see if there were any interesting details to work on. And man, there are. It was totally worth the wait. Journal 3, I mean. But hopefully, this chapter as well!

_Could F ever truly appreciate the complex fates that brought me and my Muse together?_

Ford stared down at the words he had just written, scratching his chin with the cap of his pen. The thought of sharing his secret with Fiddleford had come to his mind from time to time, too quickly for him to truly dwell on it - but seeing it in writing right now made it seem like more of a true possibility.

Perhaps he would understand: there was a brilliant mind beneath all that superstition, the annoying habit of chewing tobacco and the lack of vision that led him to keep working on that ‘personal computer’ nonsense. A mind so brilliant, in fact, that he had found himself wondering - after the second time Fiddleford had corrected his calculations, after he had pointed out a fatal flaw in the portal’s design with just one look at the blueprint - how come it had been him, and not Fiddleford Hadron McGucket, to be chosen by the Muse.

 _The others were well and good, but you’re it, all right? Once we’re done, you’ll have changed the world. Anything will be possible for you, my pal_.

The memory of what Bill had told him once - twice, truth be told - sat warmly in his chest, but it was not quite enough. Of course, he had chosen him, and that had to mean something; it meant everything.

But it would be best to tell Fiddleford nothing. Just in case.

… He probably wouldn’t understand, after all.

* * *

“On the contrary, Fordsy. He’d understand _too much_.”

One thing that could be said about the sheer amount of Bill imagery Ford kept in his house was that, aside from being flattering - once one got over the initial creepiness of it all, that was it - it gave Bill plenty of eyes inside that house. Honestly, there was no corner of that place that he could not peer into. Which included a couple of places he _could_ have done without, to be totally honest, but by then he knew which ones he should avoid.

Not that he liked what he was seeing right now, either. He didn’t like it at all, because he could see how _that_ would play out - and it was definitely not according to his plan. Fiddleford Hadron McGucket would worry for his friend’s mental state, would try to help in his own misguided way, and in doing so he would plant doubts in Stanford Pines oh-so-brilliant and clueless mind.

And one thing Bill Cipher could not af _ford_ , pun intended, was his puppet doubting him.

Maybe it was just about time to have a chat with him.

* * *

“Hey, IQ. Got a minute for an old friend?”

Ford blinked, looking up from his calculations to see Bill hovering right above him. He blinked a couple more times before realizing, with no small amount of annoyance, that he must have fallen asleep: the room around him was already fading into the vastness of space, what Ford had learned to know as his own mindscape.

“I was… not supposed to fall asleep just yet,” he said with a sigh. So much to do, and his need for sleep kept working against him.

“I take it you _ain’t_ got a minute, after all?”

His Muse’s remark caused Ford to wince, and he looked up, suddenly alarmed. He hadn’t meant for his words to come across like that and, while his Muse seemed unconcerned - hanging upside down little above him, letting his arms and legs dangle - he found himself suddenly worried he may have offended him in any way.

“No, of course not!” he said quickly. “I mean, yes! Of course I have a minute - or two - or twenty - I mean…!” he stammered, and trailed off when Bill laughed.

“Hey now, smart guy, don’t fret,” Bill said, and snapped his fingers. Ford felt himself and the whole mindscape around him turn upside down… or up right, from Bill’s point of view. It was hard to tell which one was correct, after all. “I mean, you’re a busy guy. Don’t mind that you need more time up with Glasses.”

“Glasses?”

“Your college buddy. You were right, you know? He really is the right guy for the job. He’s clever.”

There was a stab of something upon hearing Bill praising someone else in his presence - _why choose me and not him?_ \- but it wasn’t enough to keep Ford from speaking the truth. “He is brilliant. There can be no one better than him to help me complete this project.”

“Yup, all true. Pretty impressive. Grew up dirt poor, didn’t he? Must have taken a real struggle to get where he is,” Bill said, coming to sit on Ford’s hair. “No wonder he’s eager to make his mark in the world.”

It was all true, of course: Ford knew of Fiddleford’s upbringing, and admired him even more because of what he had managed to accomplish despite it all. And yet, hearing as much from Bill sounded wrong, somehow. Why was he suddenly talking about the mark _Fiddleford_ was going to leave on the world? Wasn’t the portal _his_ project, the coronation of _his_ life’s work?

“I… I suppose,” he found himself saying, trying to look up at Bill - quite uselessly, as he was right on top of his head. “What of it?”

There was a silence, one that soon became uncomfortably long from a being that was rarely quiet. Then, finally, Ford felt Bill’s incorporeal weight shifting down on his shoulder. When he spoke again his voice was oddly quiet, and very close to his ear.

“Just some advice from a friend. You trust him, don’t you?”

“I… of course. I mean, he dropped everything to come into my aid,” Ford said, and there was some relief in saying as much aloud, hearing it coming from his own mouth. Fiddleford was a friend - he had a wife, a young child, personal projects he had left behind to work on Ford’s own breakthrough… and all just because he had asked. “He’s a good friend.”

“Oh, yeah. Almost like a brother, huh?”

Relief faded away into sheer bitterness. There had been a time when _like a brother_ would have made him think of utter trust, someone who would always have your back. But how could it now, with his own brother having sabotaged his attempt at making his own path in the world only because he wanted him to join him into a stupid treasure hunt - forever only half of a matched set, never to do anything with his potential?

“Look, I don’t wanna rain on your parade or anything,” Bill was saying, his tone light. Stanford assumed that he did not know what thoughts his wording had caused him; only too late he would realize Bill Cipher had known _precisely_ what he was doing. “Things are going smoothly and all. I mean, the guy was even up to chase monsters with you! Not that he loved it, but hey. Still stuck with you.”

Ford frowned. “But…?” he asked. Because there was a _but_ there, there had to be, or else Bill wouldn’t be speaking like that to begin with. He didn’t truly expect a straight answer, because that simply wasn’t something his Muse often gave when offering advice or guiding his hand, but what he got was a clear enough message.

“But I wouldn’t overestimate the guy’s ability to really understand, well, all of it. Understand the magnitude of your work. Understand you. Understand me,” Bill said, and slid off Ford’s shoulder. He went to hover before him and fixed his eye on Ford’s face, hands gripping his head. His pupil widened until it was a black mirror Ford could see himself into. “Good old Glasses was great in school and all, but there are things school can’t teach you. Some things that are either in your or aren’t. Greatness, for one,” he added, and his eye crinkled in amusement for a moment before he patted Ford’s cheek. “Or the ability to see beyond the little things your kind considers so important. Fame and glory and all that junk. I have seen great minds bend to take the _scraps_ of what they could have achieved to have those instead - can’t blame ‘em, though. They were limited like that. It’s hard for your kind to resist temptation, Fordsy. Especially for those of you who’ve had to raise above what they were born into and fight every step of the way to prove they were _better_ than the dirt they came from.”

Ford found himself at a loss for words for a few moments, and he had to work his jaw before speaking. “Are you referring to Fiddleford, or to me?”

Bill laughed, and let go of his face, hovering back a few steps. “Hahaha! You? Oh man, you crack me up. No, of course not! You’re better than that. But a lot of people ain’t. Limited minds can be great and still not understand. Remember Tesla. And remember Edison,” Bill said, then shrugged. “Ah well. As I said, you’re a busy guy - so there, don’t let me keep you!” he exclaimed, and snapped his fingers.

The Mindscape faded and Ford’s eyes opened. He was back in his house, his head resting down on a pile of calculations, the pen still in his hands and his glasses having left a painful mark on the bridge of his nose.

As he adjusted them, Stanford noticed something else - something sketched at the corner of a page, something he was sure he had not drawn: a figure that looked a lot like a tiny Bill holding up a tray with… was that chicken? A sandwich? It was hard to tell. Stanford gaze went lower, to the words scribbled beneath the doodle.

 _Just food for thought_.

* * *

“... Ford? I have been wondering something.”

“Yes?”

“Is anyone else working on this?”

“Anyone else?”

“I mean… the amount of calculations you can make in one night, it’s just amazing. Not that you’re _not_ amazing, mind you, but… you know, all those ideas, your theories. Are you--”

“Passing someone else’s work as my own?”

Some stuttering and stammering followed, and Ford felt mildly guilty for the harsh reply. He laughed, hoping it would make up for his poorly thought-out remark. Surely, Fiddleford hadn’t meant anything by it.

_Had he?_

“I know you weren’t implying anything of the sort, no worries,” he said. “No, no one else is working on this. Just the two of us. And I’m starting to feel it, really,” he added, straightening himself. “It is almost lunch time. Would you be up to grab a bite at the usual diner?”

He was - the amount of food Fiddleford could guzzle down would never cease to amaze him - and he seemed to push the accident in the back of his mind. But he did not.

And neither did Stanford.

_Remember Tesla. Remember Edison._

_Remember what happened to Icarus._

* * *

“Ford? You in?”

The front door was unlocked, and made an ominous creaking noise when Fiddleford pushed it open to walk in. The house was mostly dark, and eerily silent. He felt a bit guilty coming back unannounced that late, but he had just realized he had forgotten his laptop prototype there, and he really wanted to work on it through the night - he was unlikely to fall asleep at that point.

Sleep didn’t come very easily lately, and he didn’t want to dwell too much on the reasons why, because there was no one he could talk to about it. Not to his wife, because he didn’t want to worry her, and not to Ford because… because it was best not to.

Speaking of Ford, where was he?

“Ford?” he called out again, taking a few steps in the living room. Maybe he was in bed, his mind supplied, but Fiddleford found that hard to believe: Ford hardly slept, and when he did it would be at his desk, simply because he could no longer will himself to stay awake. Yet one more reason - perhaps the only one he could bring himself to dwell into - to wish the project would be over with soon, one way or another.

As much as part of him wished he had never accepted to become involved with it in the first place, a much greater part was glad he had answered to Ford’s call - so that he could be there, and hopefully keep his friend from losing himself into what looked more and more like an unhealthy obsession. Neither part of him was willing to indulge in the thought he might be unable to help him.

Fiddleford was standing in the dark, wondering whether he should call out again or just look for his laptop and leave quietly, when he heard something - steps, whistling, then the click of a switch being turned. Light immediately showed from the crack under the kitchen door, and a moment later there was the groan of a fridge’s door being opened, and then a can being cracked open.

Familiar sounds, all of them, and they made Fiddleford breathe a little more easily. He felt a little foolish, truth be told, for getting so worried by just standing in the middle of a dark room; Ford was working hard, sure, but then again the project was something big, and it was close to completion. Once it was, Ford would be famous and he could go back home to work on his own projects - knowing he had helped a friend discovering something great, something that would change the way humanity looked at the world.

“Hey, Ford,” he called out, walking up to the kitchen door and pushing it open. “Sorry to bother so late, fella, but I forgot my… my… Ford?”

Ford turned to look at him, can still in his hand, and blinked a couple of times as though struggling to put him into focus. Not a surprise, since his glasses’ lenses were wet with the beer he had been pouring over his face only a moment earlier. The question was, if anything, _why_ had he been pouring beer all over his face to begin with.

Not that Ford gave him time to vocalize his question, because the next moment his face opened in a wide smile. A very wide smile. A _too_ wide smile that somehow still failed to reach his eyes. And something was wrong with those eyes, too, something about the pupils and the sclera and the manic look--

“Hiya, Glasses!” Ford exclaimed, and his smile became if possible even wider. His shirt was wet and clung to his skin, but he seemed unbothered. “Whatcha doing here?”

Even his voice sounded all wrong: the sheer delight in it made Fiddleford’s skin crawl, and… since when did he call him _Glasses_? Him of all people, with those lenses twice as thick as his own?

“I… had forgotten… my computer, I left it… Ford, are you feeling well?” Fiddleford asked, staring at Ford as he brought up the can - to his mouth, this time - and emptied it. When he looked back at him he was grinning again.

“Never been better,” he declared, wiping his mouth with a sleeve, and turned to throw the empty can across the kitchen. It landed in the sink, and Ford threw up his arms with a ‘ _whoo-hoo’_ before turning back to him. “Hey, still got that stuff on you? The chewy, huh…”

Fiddleford blinked. “Tobacco?” he asked, and Ford snapped his fingers.

“Ah-ha! Was on the tip of my tongue! Yup, that. Got it here? Can I try it?”

Ford had always been rather obvious in his dislike for Fiddleford’s habit of chewing tobacco, so that was just about the last thing he would have expected him to say next to ‘I’d like to spend the rest of my life herding Llamas’. Still, nothing he had seen Ford doing or saying in the past minute had been something he’d have expected.

“... Are you drunk?” he asked instead, and Ford blinked.

“Was that a suggestion?”

“Wha-- no! It’s just that you hate chewing tobacco and… don’t you think that… maybe you need some sleep,” he stammered, only to watch as Ford threw back his head and laughed.

“Sleep is for the weak,” he declared. “So, can I try it?”

“I… I’m afraid I don’t have it on me right now,” Fiddleford lied, his throat closing up. All of a sudden, he wanted nothing more than leaving that house and not return until the next morning, in full daylight and hopefully to a less unstable Ford. “I think I left my laptop downstairs. I’ll just grab it and--” he began, turning, but Ford’s hand clamped down on his shoulder the moment he had his back to him, causing him to freeze.

“Liar liar, pants on fire,” Ford said, the almost childish glee in his voice making it all the more terrifying. For one insane moment, Fiddleford was almost sure that it wasn’t Ford he was speaking to: it was the Shapeshifter, it had to be - he must have somehow broken free of the cryogenic chamber, taken Ford’s appearance and… and… whatever had he done to the real Stanford?

His mind as though encased in ice, Fiddleford glanced at his shoulder, expecting to see claws there; instead, there was the familiar, six-fingered hand.

 _No, it cannot be the Shapeshifter. He’d be trapped even if he somehow escaped the cryogenic chamber. He cannot leave the bunker. We made sure of that. Ford made sure of that_.

_… Hadn’t he?_

“Ford…” he began, his voice shaking, and Ford laughed, letting go of his shoulder. When Fiddleford turned he was holding up his hands, still grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

_A game of cat and mouse, that’s what this is. But over what?_

“Alright, fine. You don’t wanna share, Fiddle-the-Ford? No problem,” Ford said, and put his hands down. “You ain’t the only one who doesn’t like sharing. Used to share everything, and got burnt pretty badly.”

“I… I’m not sure I understand.”

“I’m sure you don’t,” Ford said, and took a step forward. Their eyes were so close that Fiddleford couldn’t help but think something was horribly, horribly wrong with his gaze. Those weren’t simply the eyes of a man who got too little sleep; it was something so much more sinister, something he found he didn’t _want_ to know about. “But hey, wanna know the good news, Glasses? You don’t need to understand. Keep doing your job - you’re good at it. Such a good assistant, so keep _assisting_ and let me worry about the rest,” he said, and flicked his nose. “Don’t ask too much. You can’t handle the heat - so stay outta the kitchen,” he added, then his grin faded, and he looked around. “Well, not _this_ one. That was a figure of speech and stuff. Or this one, too? I mean, looks like a good time for you to get your stuff and go to sleep. Work tomorrow, remember?” The frown vanished, and he smiled again - that wide, unhinged smile that did not reach his eyes. “And, Glasses?”

“Y-yes?”

“... Have a good night’s sleep and don’t think too much about this little chat. We cleared up a few things, but that’s all. No need to bring it up in the morning,” he said, leaning forward. “I _mean_ it.”

Fiddleford tried to speak, but words refused to leave his throat, and he just nodded. He turned and ran out of the house, uncaring of the laptop he had come to fetch. As he reached the porch, he could swear he could hear Ford laughing. He jumped in his car, and drove off as quickly as he could.

But not towards his rented cabin.

* * *

Bill had thought he had scared Glasses good, and he wasn’t wrong on that.

He had also thought that their little chat had been enough to either get him out of the way or keep him quiet from that day onwards, but that was a part got entirely wrong. Because Bill Cipher knew a lot of things about people, but he didn’t necessarily understand them.

And he understood _good_ people least of all.

* * *

 _The Shapeshifter is still here_.

Seeing that creature again just as he had last seen him, encased in ice and inhuman features contorted in fury, was both a relief and a renewed source of worried. Relief because, well, the Shapeshifter was still harmless and encased in ice. And worry because that meant it had truly been _Ford_ he had spoken to, that his friend was _really_ losing his mind.

 _This ain’t right. He needs help_.

The next morning, he showed up for work after a sleepless night. Ford joked on how they had matching bags under their eyes and offered him coffee before they got to work. He looked perfectly normal, and Fiddleford did not bring the previous night up.

But he through about it, long and hard, and in the end only one thing was left in his mind.

 _I’ve got to do something_.

* * *

The Astonishing Anomalies of Gravity Falls.

For what felt like a long time, Ford could only stare at the paper Fiddleford was showing him, and at his _own_ name on it. He was dimly aware of what his assistant was saying - how he had chronicled all of his greatest discoveries, writing the paper in three days without breaks, and how publishing it would be enough to make him famous, and a multimillionaire.  

His eyes shifted from it to the diagram Fiddleford had drawn on a napkin. _Probability of Failure._ A possible fatal flaw, he had said. Reckless, he had added. He had asked him to reconsider the whole plan, asked him once again who had he been working with… and perhaps Ford would have answered, had it not been for that accursed _paper_ he had just pulled out. Did he truly think so little of him to believe he would stop short of the greatest discovery in the history of mankind to make some money, never getting to the heart of the matter?

_Fame and glory and all that junk. I have seen great minds bend to take the scraps of what they could have achieved to have those instead - can’t blame ‘em, though. They were limited like that. It’s hard for your kind to resist temptation, Fordsy._

“Forget about the portal and the Great Unified Theory of Weirdness!” Fiddleford was urging him. “Publish this, get your life back, and move on!”

 _You’re better than that. But a lot of people ain’t. Limited minds can be great and still not understand. Remember Tesla. And remember Edison_.

Was this what he was trying to warn him about? Was he planning to leave him with the scraps to pass Ford’s work as his own, profit from it, like Edison had with Tesla? Ford set his jaw, refusing to give the paper a further glance. He gestured for the waiter to get them their check, and stared at Fiddleford dead in the eye.

“We will do the test tomorrow night at eight o’clock sharp. Be there or get left behind. The choice is yours.”

“Ford...” Fiddleford tried, but he was done listening. He slammed the money to pay for their food on the table and left without another word, and without a second glance. Despite it all - his misgivings, his fears, Ford’s unjust suspicion - Fiddleford chose to be there for him, asking for nothing at all in exchange. He was there to take the fall for Ford’s own folly.

And even then, Ford failed to understand. He failed to see the err of his ways until Bill Cipher dropped all pretense and revealed himself as the monster he was - until he was forced to see how great his mistake had been, how much trust he had put in the wrong hands. And, by then, it was much too late.

Of all the regrets he would carry for the next thirty years, that was perhaps to be one of his greatest ones.

* * *

“... With this, the weapon is ready. There is nothing more I can do to help but to wish you good luck,” Parallel Fiddleford said, adjusting his glasses, then gave a lopsided smile. “Not that you believe in luck.”

Ford gave a brief laugh, strapping the Quantum Destabilizer - the one thing in the multiverse that could take down Bill Cipher one and for all - to his back. “What I will never doubt again is your skill. Now it all rests on whether or not I can aim right,” he said, and held out his hand. “Thank you. And… I am sorry. You did all your could to help me, and I did not listen. I should never have doubted you.”

Parallel Fiddleford shrugged, and reached out to shake his hand. “No worries. You - well, _my_ Ford already apologized. Profusely,” he added, and gave a small smile. “That’s enough on this side. Keep the apologies for _your_ Fiddleford, when you see him again.”

Ford smiled bitterly. “ _If_ I ever see him again,” he said, and reached to give the Quantum Destabilizer a pat. “But first, I need to destroy Bill. I will not miss. I promise.”

* * *

He _missed_.

Along with the panic for Dipper’s safety, that was all Ford could think when Bill’s shadow fell over him. He had missed, failed to destroy Bill Cipher with the weapon Parallel Fiddleford had worked so hard for. Maybe he would go down in history after all, as the man who had managed to let down the same person in _two_ different realities.

“Good old Six Fingers! I've been waiting an _eternity_ to have a chat face to face!” Bill’s voice boomed all around him, and he felt himself being lifted in the air before being forced to face the beings - the _nightmares_ \- he had brought upon the world.

“Everyone, this armageddon wouldn't be possible without help from our friend here. Give him a six-fingered hand!”

 _Friend. And there was a time when I believed it, too_.

_Please, call me… a friend._

It took him a terrible effort to convince himself that it was anger alone, and not hurt, that made his chest clench.

* * *

When he _did_ see Fiddleford again, he found there were so many things he should apologize for that he did not know how to start.

As it turned out, he didn’t need to start at all.

“Come here, old friend.”


	16. Alias

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I’m not my name. My name is something I wear, like a shirt. It gets worn. I outgrow it, I change it.”  
> ― Jerry Spinelli, _Stargirl._

“His name is Bill.”

That is not entirely true, of course. His name is _William,_ but only on paper; neither her nor her husband truly have the heart to call him by his full name, the one he shares with their own doomed offspring.

They called Liam by his full name, at first, until the child’s first attempts at speaking it aloud resulted with his nickname. With this one, there is never any attempt at calling him anything other than Bill. It works for her, too: he is so tiny, and such a long and solemn name would seem unfitting. The nickname has a nice ring to it, her husband had said, and she had to agree.

_Bill Cipher._

“He’s adorable,” one of her friends is saying, and that is true: the baby is clearly loving the attention, kicking and clapping his hands and trying to reach up for everyone looking down at him. Melpomene finds that it’s everything she’s ever wanted, a child who’s happy and healthy and whom she’s going to raise into adulthood.

“It is not just a child you’re going to raise,” the Chief of the Board told her husband, his voice grave, while she focused on nothing but the bundle in her arms. “An Equilateral born to Isosceles - as such, he is the hope of many. Raise him right, so that the low will know that there is hope for their kind, if they keep striving to better themselves.”

Pretty words that could barely conceal the fact that somewhere there is a mother who had to give him up, but Melpomene finds she cannot spare a thought for her plight. She has known misery, too, when Liam was born and she knew with almost complete certainty he was doomed, and she feels she deserves something in return. She deserves that hope. And besides, she reasons, he’s better off with them, too.

The Isosceles class would have nothing to offer him, and Bill Cipher deserves better.

* * *

They called him William.

Neither of them _really_ calls him that: it’s always Bill, or Billy when their mother is being especially affectionate. But Liam is not stupid, and of course he knows that Bill is short for William. Even small children know that.

They gave him _his_ name, and that can only mean they have already given up on him. This new William is his replacement in every way, and sometimes Liam wishes he could hate him, but he makes him laugh and Liam can’t even dislike him a bit. Bill is the final nail in his coffin and the brightest of hopes and everything inbetween.

Maybe the fact no one ever uses his full name helps some - makes him feel more like his brother and less like a replacement.

“Bill,” Liam is saying slowly. “Can you say your name?”

“Leeah!”

“No, no, not mine! Your name is Bill. Can you say it? _Bill._ ”

_“Bee!”_

Well. Close enough.

* * *

The first and only time their father calls him William - he was tired and nervous and Bill was being loud, so he probably used it to sound more intimidating and make him stop - Bill is extremely confused.

“But my name is Bill,” he says, frowning. There is no question, but Liam knows he’s expecting him to explain him what’s going on. Which Liam does, as always, because his brother won’t be quiet until he’s had the answers he wants. This one question is, at least, easy to answer.

“Bill is short for William,” he explains. “William is your name and Bill your nickname.”

That causes him to blink. “But that’s _your_ name.”

I know, Liam thinks, and as usual there is a sense of dread in his very core. It takes him an effort not to let it show. “We share the same name. Different nicknames, though.”

“But there’s no _Bill_ in William!”

No amount of telling him that’s just how it is wields any results, and for a couple of weeks - until he gets distracted by something else - Bill is absolutely adamant that his full name’s got to be Billiam.

* * *

“Norman?”

“I know. I _know._ ”

“They called you _Norman_?”

“Hey now, they didn’t! It’s just the middle name, Nora. No one cares about middle names.”

_“Norman!”_

“I’m already regretting telling you.”

“William _Norman_ Cipher, for Circles’ sake!”

“Are you going to keep this up for long?”

“Can I call you Norm from now on?”

_“No.”_

She still does, for the next couple of months. Bill is relieved when she grows bored and stops. Still, when he makes the same mistake with Pyronica and it is her turn to tease him over it, he finds there is something almost nostalgic about that annoyance.

* * *

“Hey, Flattie! We’re watching you. No funny business.”

“Forget about the Flattie, it’s his friends you should look out for!”

There’s a lot he has learned to ignore in the Infinetentiary - the slob they’ve got to eat, Pyronica’s snoring, the long lines to do just about everything, being watched 24/7 - but the way the wardens keep calling him still grates his nerves. _Flattie_ is not something he was called before leaving his dimension, where everyone is just as two-dimensional as himself, but it hasn’t taken him long to understand it’s meant to be insulting.

And it’s twice the insult, as far as he’s concerned, because he wants to have nothing to do with the useless wimps back in his dimension. He is nothing like them - that’s why he’s there in the first place.

_Hah! A Flatlander with an attitude! Never thought I'd see one._

_Quit making it worse for yourself, Flattie._

“Hey, buddy,” 8 Ball grunts, eyes flickering in the wardens’ general direction. “Want me to get their tongues?”

Bill follows his gaze for a moment, then looks away. “Nah. Not worth isolation anyway,” he says, and walks past - but his cuffed hands are balled into fists. He doesn’t know when or how, but a day will come when he’ll make them pay and no one - _no one_ \- will call him that way ever again.

* * *

_“LISTEN, EVERYONE! The Circles were a bunch of hacks! The Laws of Nature were made up and are gone! Name’s Bill Cipher, and there is only one law from now to eternity - no law!”_

As the name - Bill Cipher - thunders across the dimension for everyone to hear, there are very few left who recognize it.

One of them is a tilted square who's been left to rot away in prison for the best part of a decade; it takes him a few moments to realize what he's hearing, but when he does he laughs and laughs and _laughs._ It is the laugh of a madman. By then, it's the only kind of laugh that ever leaves him.

Another is an elderly Equilateral Triangle, who used to be run a bookstore before he was forced into hiding by his knowledge and ideas. He recognizes the name, and feels surprise and horror in equal measure. It is the name of someone he believed long gone. It is a name that belonged to a mischievous child who’d come into his store like whirlwind, leaving confusion and laughter in his wake; a child he liked, if not as much as he had liked his unfortunate brother, at least more than he’d later like the reckless adult he would grow into. He knows that _now_ it is the name of a monster.

Two more are the ones who gave life to the name's bearer, and shared less of a week of that life with him before their ways parted. They had been panicking, like everyone else, blinded by the sudden strain put on their eyes by the colors swirling all around them, when the name was screamed out loud from nowhere and everywhere at once.

_Name’s Bill Cipher._

“That is not your name,” the woman chokes out without even realizing it. But she cannot remember what his name should be, and neither can her husband. They cling to each other are the world they know is torn apart, aware that their end is not long in coming. When it comes, that name is lost for good and that of Bill Cipher is all that is left, spelling chaos and turmoil for a trillion years to come.

* * *

_"Alright, listen up, you one-lifespan, three-dimensional, five-sense skin puppets! For one trillion years I've been trapped in my own decaying dimension, waiting for a new universe to call my own. Name's Bill! But you can call me your new lord and master for all of eternity!"_

* * *

“Who are you?”

The same question he’s been asked countless times before, and once again there could be so many answers. He’s the All Seeing Eye; to some he’s been the Eye of God, the One with Answers. Some better informed folks have and will refer to him as the One-Eyed Beast. An eternity before he’s been addressed to as ‘Flattie’ by some worthless prison wardens, and even earlier as ‘Norm’ by one of the few Flatlanders worth any respect. Some have perhaps used his full name, once or twice. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows someone used to call him Billy; there has even been a name meant for him that was never been spoken. And, as a dimension burned, many more called him _monster._

They were not wrong - none of them was really wrong. Bill Cipher has been all those things, and yet so much more. But, for time being and to this one sack of meat in particular, he’s to be a muse, and his usual name will do.

“Name's Bill! And your name's Stanford Pines, the--  
_Author of the Journals_  
_Poindexter_  
_Brainiac_  
_Sixer_  
_Hero’s brother_  
\--man who changed the world...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Every name is real. That's the nature of names.”  
> ― Jerry Spinelli, _Stargirl._


	17. Jheselbraum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About a month ago, I got this anon ask on Tumblr right after I finished reading Journal 3:  
>  _Would it make sense if the Oracle was Nora? Because Bill is supposed to make up for his crimes in a 'different form and time' so what if she could too, what if her crime was killing her father and giving Bill the means to move out of their dimension and eventually get his powers? He'd have never succeeded without her help, what if she has to make up for it by helping Ford in his quest? And that is why she saved him and told his story?_
> 
> It's something I hadn't even thought about until that moment, but I actually liked the idea. It sounded like fun. So hey, why not?  
> And here we go.

_ “I should have never trusted him.” _

_ “No. You shouldn’t have.” _

_ “I… I didn’t know he would do this. I didn’t think it possible for him to--” _

_ “You couldn’t possibly imagine. Hindsight is 20/20, but you didn’t have the luxury of seeing the future yet.” _

_ “... Yet?” _

_ There was a moment of silence, a flick of a tail. “Providing Bill Cipher with that equation was a mistake. Giving him the coordinates was an even worse one. I can offer you a chance to atone for those mistakes, in another form, another time. He can be stopped, if--” _

_ “I’ll do anything! Anything you want! If it’s to save--” _

_ A shake of a great head, and she fell silent. _

_ “No, I am sorry. Your dimension is lost. But there are other worlds that can be saved - you can help seeing to that. Your dimension burned, and so shall he.” _

_ The silence seemed to stretch out forever, but Axolotl didn’t mind. Forever was not such a long time, after all. He could wait. He knew what the answer would be once she came to grips with what had happened, with the staggering sense of finality that’d come with the knowledge that nothing could save her dimension anymore. It would burn down to ashes - but, one day, so would its destroyer.  _

_ When she finally spoke, the answer was the one he expected.  _

_ “... Tell me what I must do.” _

* * *

“I should have never trusted him.”

“No. You shouldn’t have.” 

“It’s just… I thought him a friend.”

“You’re one of many. You’ll meet plenty ready to blame you for it. I am not among them.”

There is a brief silence, and not an uncomfortable one. Ford keeps his eyes fixed on the Cosmic Sand in his glass, and sighs. A hand reaches up to lightly touch the healing wound on his scalp. “At least now he will remain out of my mind, thanks to your help. He will no longer feed me his lies.”

The Oracle looks down at him, gaze unreadable. “Bill Cipher never lied to you. He never  _ had  _ to. That is his strength,” she said. 

As always, Ford can detect nothing like anger in her voice - just that steely resolve that never seems to leave her. He nods, avoiding to meet the Oracle’s gaze; it’s no easy feat when the one whose gaze you’re trying to avoid happens to have seven eyes. 

“I know that now. Manipulating me must have been so easy,” he says. His head hurts, and he knows it’s not just due to the surgical wound. He takes another swig of Cosmic Sand. “I was a fool.”

Jheselbraum the Unswerving makes a movement that may be a shrug, but is somewhat too graceful to be described as such. “He has had a trillion years to practice the art of half-truths. There are rules he needs to respect, loathe it as he might, or else his deals could be called off. He tricked many before you, and more will fall for his manipulation before he’s stopped.”

For the very first time, Ford picks up something else in her voice - something that is not quite anger, not quite sadness, but somewhere in-between. It strikes him as odd, considering how she showed neither when recounting how Bill destroyed his home dimension everyone in it.

_ “Everyone?” _

_ “His own parents. Everyone.” _

_ Are my parents even alive now?  _

The thought was painful, and he had chosen to ignore it to focus on what the Oracle was telling him. Now, he glances up at her.

“Did you meet him? Did he trick you as well?”

Her gaze darkens, all of her eyes narrowing, and Ford has a moment to wish he never asked before she speaks. Her voice is quiet and collected as it was before.

“... Yes and no,” she says slowly, before he can utter an apology. “He did not mean to trick me, then. I am certain he meant what he promised. But the two of us had very different views of what that promise entailed. Either way, I trusted him and regretted it dearly.”

She falls silent, and Ford knows better than prompting her to say more. He looks down at the Cosmic Sand, and thinks back of something else she said earlier - something that is enough to make him smile, and forget his own shame for a time.

_ You have the face of the man who is destined to destroy him.  _

“I will stop him,” he says, looking up. He meant it as a statement, and he only realizes it is a promise now that it’s leaving his lips. “I won’t rest until his reign of terror is over. You helped me - saved my life. I won’t let it be for nothing.”

Jheselbraum smiles back; all of her eyes seem to smile aloud with her mouth. “Make it worth something,” she says, very quietly.

“I will,” Ford promises, and finishes his glass. The earlier uneasiness has faded into an almost savage joy at the thought. He thinks of the moment he’ll see Bill broken at his feet, laughs, and fills his glass again. And again. 

He is soon asleep, unaware of the fact her remark about half-truths was meant to be a warning.

* * *

“Will it be him, or his brother?”

“Doesn’t really matter, does it?”

“It feels like I lied to him.”

“You told him what you saw.”

“It was not clear enough. I saw a face. May be his, or not.”

“That’s a thing with you Oracles, I am afraid. You are unclear as the future, and for good reason. Nothing is set in stone, and neither are your visions. But he is now protected against Bill’s influence, and on the path where he needs to be. Let events play out, and Bill Cipher shall meet his demise.”

Jheselbraum hums, conceding the point and watching the images in the swirling fog - Stanford Pines awakening in another dimension, confused as to how he got there, but ready to resume his journey. “Either way, Bill is not going to be destroyed.”

“No. He is energy. He cannot be destroyed,” Axolotl says. “And besides, he’ll invoke my name. I bet you have seen as much.”

The Oracle nods. “He will. An easy way out, after destroying whole dimensions.”

“Invoking me is only the beginning. There will be--”

“Another form, another time,” she cuts him off. Her eyes, all seven of them, are fixed in the distance. “I know.”

Axolotl settles next to her. “Have  _ you  _ regretted taking my offer?”

A shake of her head. “No, never. But I am not Bill Cipher. He will never admit he did anything wrong. Let alone absolve his crime.”

“Have you  _ seen  _ that?”

“... No. It is more of a hunch.”

Axolotl nods and stands. “Time will tell, then. This is coming to a close, by  _ his  _ hand or that of his brother.”

Something about that statement makes Jheselbraum chuckle. “Perhaps it will be his brother, after all. It would be fitting, given how this sorry story began.”

“It would.”

“... Sometimes I like to pretend things could have gone differently. That none of this would have happened had Liam Cipher never been taken.”

“But it would have. Your dimension was doomed regardless the moment Bill Cipher came into existence. No matter the circumstances, no matter the reality or timeline. One way or another, he’d have come to hate it. And what he hates, he destroys.”

The Oracle sighs, all of her eyes narrowing into the infinite, but she already knows what she will see. “Countless realities, and not one where Bill Cipher never came into existence.”

“Not a single one. He was always meant to be. In a way, he existed before he took form in the Second Dimension. Chaos is timeless.”

A slight snort. “Chaos itself. And I thought him a  _ friend _ .”

“He never stopped considering you one. He thought you’d approve of his idea of liberation.”

“A fool.”

“Chaos doesn’t precisely rhyme with common sense, does it?”

She sighs. “Fair enough,” she says, her hand reaching up to toy with the pendant around her neck. She says nothing, and it is Axolotl to speak first. 

“I find it intriguing how you miss home. After all this time, with all of its horrible flaws.”

“I would have tried to leave that world behind rather than fixing it if I didn’t love it.”

“He wasn’t like you. He truly hated it. And yet he misses home as well.”

“Poor little Norm,” Jheselbraum says, her voice just slightly colder, and Axolotl gives the tittering noise that she has come to associate to a laugh.

“As I told you once, hindsight is 20/20. For an All Seeing Eye, Cipher has showed an amazing lack of foresight throughout his whole existence.”

“I’ll make sure to rub it in his eye should we meet again,” the Oracle mutters. Axolotl laughs again, and shakes himself.

“It is time for me to go. You work is done. Shall you keep watch on this dimension?”

Rather than replying right away, Jheselbraum let her gaze wander down the mountain top, on the place known as Dimension 52. “It is my home now. I failed one homeland already.”

“Your mistakes have been paid for.”

“It is something I  _ want  _ to keep doing. It’s who I am. I had this form far longer than my old one.”

“Fair enough,” Axolotl says, and then nothing more. She doesn’t need to turn to know he has left.

* * *

_ “You are outnumbered! Come out, you and the woman both!” _

_ Despite everything - the still raw wound of having murdered her father and the crushing knowledge she was at the end of her own life, the thought her sister and her family must be doomed as well and the impossible wish she could see the Third Dimension before dying - Nora almost laughed when the officials outside the shop kept barking their orders.  _

_ They were talking to Bill. They thought he was there with her and, soon, those left to tell what happened would think he had died with her. That would give him time, all the time he needed to reach the right place, and then… then… _

_ “THIS IS IT! YOU HAD YOUR CHANCE!” _

_ There was a crash, and the windows went in pieces. She didn’t even recoil: she just watched as several Isosceles soldiers stormed inside the store, weapons drawn, followed by a few higher-ranking officials. She noticed, faintly, a Hexagon among them.  _

_ They all were at the end of their lives, and hadn’t realized it yet. Nora looked down at the counter and picked up something she had placed there before - a box of matches.  _

_ “It is over,” the Hexagon said, him and the soldiers moving in. “You’re to be arrested for treason. Surrender now, and the Circles-- what are you doing?” _

_ Nora didn’t bother to reply: she just took out a match and struck it. Only a moment to look at the flame, and she finally glanced back up. What a curious bunch, she thought: a highborn woman, Isosceles soldiers, high-ranking Hexagons and officials, all in the store belonging to an Equilateral tradesman. And soon, no one would be able to tell their ashes apart. _

_ “Yes. It is over,” she said, and let the match fall. _

_ She saw horror and realization in the Hexagon’s eye for just one instant, the one instant it took him to realize that everything in the shop was slick with a flammable liquid, that he and his men had charged into a trap.  _

_ Then the match hit the ground, and she saw nothing but flames. _

* * *

"You're making a mistake! I'll give you anything! Money! Fame! Riches! Infinite power! Your own galaxy! Please-- No!  _ What's happening to me? _ " 

Surrounded by fire, losing control of his own form and  _ frightened _ for the first time in a trillion years, Bill Cipher looks nothing like the demon he’s been for so long: he is but a brat who’s getting burned after playing with fire too long, too sure of himself to realize he was walking straight into a trap.

_ Your turn to burn. _

From her seat in Dimension 52 she sees, her eyes glazed over and fixed on the infinite, that Bill Cipher has come to the same conclusion - and yet he refuses to give in, refuses to let it be over. It is no surprise. She and Axolotl both knew it would happen.

_ “A-X-O-L-O-T-L! My time has come to burn! I invoke the ancient power that I may return!” _

When Stanley Pines -  _ the face of the one destined to destroy Bill  _ \- shatters him, drowning out his last scream, the Oracle breathes out and closes her eyes, letting the glare of flames fade into darkness. Jheselbraum reaches for the anger deep within her, and is not surprised when she fails to find it: there is only relief.

Not that it will keep her from rubbing this defeat and the irony of it in his eye, should she get a chance to meet him.

* * *

“A nap.”

“Yes.”

“Bill Cipher is taking a  _ nap. _ Seriously.”

“A  _ long  _ nap. But then again, he hasn’t slept since he shed his mortality.”

“And he has galls to keep you waiting after invoking you?”

“So it seems. He refuses to come out.”

A sigh. “The usual primadonna.”

“He’s dreaming of home, and of his brother,” Axolotl says, and gives something that resembles a shrug. “Do you not dream of it, and of your sister?”

The Oracle looks away. “... Every time I close my eyes,” she says. The very last time she had seen Esther, they’d had a violent argument and never got a chance to talk again afterwards; a trillion years haven’t helped her stop feeling guilty over it. Sometimes she has taken some comfort in the thought that, at least, those who had ended her and her children have died along with their world, by Bill’s hand. 

“He is reclaiming his memories,” Axolotl is saying, and turns to the clouds that surround the mountain top. They swirl for a few moments and then still to show something, images in black and white: a bedroom, a boy with a book, a child listened with a wide eye to whatever tale he’s telling. “A little more summer. His bubble will crack, eventually, but we cannot force it open.”

The images begin fading slowly, and Jheselbraum gives one last glance at Bill’s brother - hopelessly Irregular by their world’s standards, the poor boy, no wonder he never stood a chance - before turning back to Axolotl.

“We wait, then.”

“You don’t have to. Your role is done.”

“I said I’d see this to the end, and this is not the end. This is a stasis,” she says. “And every time I try to see what comes after it, I see nothing but fog.”

“It hasn’t been written yet.”

“One more reason for me to be there.”

Axolotl tilts his head on one side. “... You’re going to call him Norman again, aren’t you? ”

That gets a slight smile out of her. “Among other things.”

“Things that wouldn’t be appropriate for a popular animated show aimed at human children,” Axolotl says, causing the Oracle to blink with all seven eyes.

“That’s… oddly specific.”

“Multiverse,” Axolotl says with a shrug, and offers no other explanation before turning to leave. “You will be the first to know when it is time,” is all he says, and then Jheselbraum  is alone again. 

It doesn’t bother her; Axolotl comes and goes as he pleases, and she has come to like having the mountain for herself. Below, the rest of the dimension is always honored to welcome her, but more often than not she finds company overwhelming: so many people, so many pasts and futures assaulting her eyes. Being on her own is resting, even more so now that Bill has been stopped and it is all over. 

_ No, not over. It is a stasis. A little more summer. _

That isn’t much, she muses, reaching up to toy with her pendant. She has waited a trillion years to see her mistakes amended, after all.

She can allow a little more summer.


	18. Granted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got the idea for this one while talking about how Bill clearly never doubted he'd win in the end, which is probably what made him so blind to the trap he eventually fell into - he simply took victory for granted. And, Bill being Bill, I imagine there had to be plenty of things he just took for granted. So I decided to toy with the concept a bit.

“Oh, and who’s this young man?”

The client is an elderly Square who needs to squint to see Bill better, with tiny wrinkles at the corners of his eye - the first client of the day. Bill is about to introduce himself, but his father gets there first, a hand resting on his upper corner.

“My boy,” he says. He sounds a lot like he did earlier that morning, when recalling how his grandfather had built the business from scratch - happy and proud almost to the point of gloating. Almost, because his father never gloats: he says it’s not dignified. “His name is Bill.” 

“I’m gonna run the run the shop when I grow up. Dad’s teaching me,” Bill blurts out, and the Square chuckles. 

“Oh, of course. Never too early to show them the ropes, eh, Norman?” he says, clearly amused. “Do you think you could help me pick a new tie, then, young man?”

“Sure!” Bill exclaims, and immediately leads him to the right section of the store. Behind him, his father laughs. It is not something he does often, and it sounds different from his usual Business Laugh: it’s the one that comes out when he’s really pleased about something, and right now he’s really pleased with Bill. 

But he always is; that’s nothing new. Why shouldn’t he, anyway? Everyone’s always remarking on how smart Bill is, how quick to learn and what a good salesman he’s going to make. When told he’s come from a line of Isosceles, everyone is always very impressed - praising the perfect regularity of his sides, the degree of his angles, and how important those like him are to stimulate the low to better themselves and strengthen their bloodline. 

“What a honor it must be, being picked to raise him,” someone said once, and his parents had heartily agreed that yes, it had been a great honor indeed. 

There is nothing and no one else in the world his father beams about quite as much, and Bill never thinks anything of it.

* * *

“Bill, settle down now. It’s late. You should be sleeping alrea--”

“But sleep is boring!”

“You’ll be going to the shop with your father early tomorrow, sweetheart. He’s going to show you around. You’ll be tired if you don’t sleep.”

Bill frowns. “I won’t be,” he says, but he does settle down. He’s got to make her happy, anyway, or else she won’t leave him alone, and he doesn’t want her to stay. She’s got to go to sleep, too, so that he can get out of the room.

His mother just chuckles, and tucks him under the covers. Still, she doesn’t leave: she hesitates for a moment, lingering above him, then she speaks again. “Would you like me to tell you a story?”

It’s something she suggests from time to time, and the answer is always the same. “Naah. Not you,” Bill says. Why would he want her to tell him a story? Liam is a lot better at it than she is, and he makes up stories on the spot. He’s really bad with scary ones, but then he comes up with really good adventures sometimes. It’s just more fun with him. And besides, he’s not supposed to be there. That makes everything even better. 

Something flickers in his mother’s eye at the careless reply, something that’s not too far away from hurt, but it’s gone just as quickly and he doesn’t notice it. He probably wouldn’t have noticed even if it lingered, truth be told. 

“... I see. Have a good night, sweetie.”

“Hu-uh. Sure,” Bill mutters, and fakes a yawn, wondering how come she’s not leaving. She pauses another moment, then speaks quietly. 

“I love you.”

Well, sure she does. That’s what mothers do, Bill reasons, and shrugs. “Night,” he says, and closes his eye, hoping it will make her leave at last. 

There is another brief silence, and then steps. “Goodnight,” she murmurs, and the door closes. Bill stays still, waiting in silence until he can hear no sound in the house anymore.

He doesn’t wonder what that was about. He never does: he just leaves his room silently and goes to raid the kitchen. Once there he doesn’t question how come that, every night, there are cookies and milk just within his reach in the kitchen - enough for two to snack on. But they are and it’s convenient, and that’s it for him: he just grabs them and trots to Liam’s room. They eat the cookies and drink the milk, Liam tells stories and Bill listens and laughs - sometimes they both laugh, but quietly, in what’s little more than a snickering, so that they won’t be heard. 

There are nights when they  _ are  _ heard, when their mother stands on the other side of the door, silent as a ghost and filled with longing. Her hand lingers on the handle sometimes, but never pushes it down, and she just listens to their whispers and laughter. She knows she should not be allowing this, should not allow Bill to grow attached like she’s not allowing herself, but she doesn’t have the heart to take this from Liam.

In the end she leaves in silence, knowing that there is no place for her in what the boys share. It is better this way, perhaps: you cannot miss what you never had. Bill never suspects a thing: he thinks himself clever, and boasts that he hasn’t once been caught by their parents coming in Liam’s room at night.

* * *

The first few nights after Liam is gone are the worst.

He doesn’t go in the kitchen to get anything to eat. He doesn’t go to Liam’s room. There are no stories, no secret whispers, no laughs and no falling asleep in a heap only to wake up early the next morning to get back in his room before their parents notice he’s not in it. There is only the night and it feels endless, because he cannot sleep through it.

He always assumed Liam would be there through all of his nights, but now he’s gone and it’s not fair. He’s not supposed to be on his own, he doesn’t  _ want  _ to be on his own. His mother tries to suggest, just once, that she could tell him a story; he screams at her to leave him alone, and she never brings it up ever again. 

But it doesn’t matter, Bill will find out later. He doesn’t need her or her stupid stories, because when he’s able to break into Liam’s room he finds that he left something behind - something a lot more important than silly fairy tales. Once again, his nights are full of stories - only that this time they are about a faraway dimension, and wonders he swears he’s going to see with his own eye, someday. 

_ I always wished I could see the colors. _

As he reads on, he can almost convince himself he can hear Liam’s voice reading to him.

* * *

Bill is not at all surprised when Randall allows him in the secret group right away. Why shouldn’t he? He knows plenty of things, thanks to the books and notes Liam left behind, and he wants to know more. He  _ wants _ in.

And what he wants, he gets.

* * *

_ We never had a son. _

_ You shouldn’t be here. Please, leave. _

_ Be reasonable! _

Bill slams the front door shut behind himself, refusing to admit even to himself that he’s shaking with anger. He was able to keep his cool earlier, even found the situation funny - the lowest of the low, rejecting him! - but now that no one can see him he finds he has hardly any control over it.

They were supposed to welcome him. They were supposed to be glad to see him, downright  _ honored _ he went to the trouble to find them and show up - should have let him in, should have asked about him, should have--

_ I love you. _

_ Well, sure she does. That’s what mothers do. _

Bill scowls, and pours himself a glass instead, which he gulps down in a single swig. Should have, he thinks with a scoff, and fills the glass again. Should have, but didn’t. They had the galls to  _ reject _ him - who do they think they are? His scowl deepens, and he gulps down the second glass. Useless rabble, like the rest of their kind.  Are their precious  _ laws _ so important to them? More important than him?

_ You could lose everything. Please. Be reasona-- _

“No I WON’T!”

Bill’s shout is covered by a crash when he hurls the glass he just emptied against the wall. It shatters and leaves a stain, the kind his mother - the other, equally worthless one - would rush to clean. But she’s dead and buried, and leaving a stain on her precious wall gives Bill a vicious sense of satisfaction that soothes, at least in part, his fury.

Let them live by their rules, then. Let them live and die and  _ rot _ in their assigned place - it’s their loss anyway: he’s meant for something better than this dump of a world and will get there, one way or another. 

He doesn’t need them. He doesn’t need  _ anyone. _

* * *

"... Do the others know?" 

"No. This is too big and we can't mess up. We only get one shot at this. Kryptos loses his nerve too easily, and Hillmann is leaning a bit too much on Esther's side of the argument. I don't know if we can trust him all the way.”

But I trust you, her words imply. There is some smugness at the thought, Bill has to admit, but no real surprise. Why  _ shouldn’t _ Nora trust him? They think alike, more than anyone else in their group; great minds and all that.  _ Of course _ she’d turn to him when things get serious.

When she finally finds the coordinates and comes to him first, however, he has no time for smugness: the fact she will not - cannot - come with him and is prepared to die is enough to wipe that away. He doesn’t like it, and he’d argue more if they had time. Except that they  _ don’t,  _ and all he can do is hold out his hand, tell her it’s been great doing business with her. 

For the last time, Nora laughs. 

"It's been fun on this end, too. Now finish it. Deal?"

"Deal.”

And, as far as Bill is concerned, he’ll keep that promise. He’ll finish it, indeed: their old world and its stifling rules will soon be gone, replaced by something new and infinitely better. He certainly made it worth  _ something _ alright, didn’t he?

_ Didn’t he? _

* * *

“What the-- are you  _ sassing _ me, short stuff?”

Bill rolls his eye, lifting his arms. He can barely reach halfway the other prisoner’s shin; this guy could crush him very easily and would clearly love to do so, but then again that’s the whole point - getting newbies mad so they try to do something… and give the guys an excuse to close on them without consequences. They’re scattered across the Infinetentiary’s laundry room, pretending to be busy but actually listening to every word, waiting for him to make a move - but this idiot is so focused on Bill he didn’t realize it, didn’t even notice Bill is confronting him right before the surveillance camera. 

“Whoa-oh, someone had a revelation! Took you only… what, has it been twenty minutes or thirty?” Bill wonders aloud. “Sheesh, maybe it was forty. You  _ are  _ slow, aren’t you?” he adds. 

The guy’s eyes narrow, all five of them. Why would anyone need  _ five  _ eyes, anyway? “Unless you want to be annihilated--”

“Hey, that’s a difficult word! Where did you learn that from, big guy? The dictionary that fell on your face?”

There is a roar, and two things happen in quick succession: first, the newbie lifts an arm to strike him. And, second, the guys  _ charge. _

“Get ‘im!”

“No messin’ with one of ours!”

“I have killed millions--”

“Shut it and fight!”

They do fight, but it doesn’t last long: the newbie is big, but so are they - well, some of them -  and he’s caught by surprise. He’s already out cold by the time wardens rush in, although their arrival does stop Pyronica from trying to eat him. She looks rather disappointed. 

“You again! The hell was this all about?” one of them snaps, and 8 Ball grunts, tilting his head towards Bill.

“That idiot tried to pick on Bill.”

“Yeah, he did!”

“Just check the security footage!”

“Couldn’t let him do it!”

“We protect our own!”

There is a sigh and a rather exasperated look towards Bill - who’s pretty sure they have guessed, by now, that he’s baiting the newbies on purpose - before the warden just grumbles for them to go back in their cells. They do, and Bill and Pyronica keep laughing for a good while after getting in theirs.

“Did you see his face?”

“They fall for it  _ every _ time!”

“Sure they do! How could they suspect someone so tiny and cute would be with worst misfits to ever grace this boring place?”

“Aw, c’mon! I ain’t  _ that _ tiny, and totally not cu-- no! Hey! Put me down!”

“Aww! You’re squeaking!” she exclaims, and gives him a squeeze.

“AM -  _ ow! _ \- NOT!”

“Squeak, squeak! That’s you! That’s what you sound like!”

“Cut that out!”

_ “Squeak!” _

For all of his protests, Bill isn’t  _ really _ bothered. He kinda likes being part of this weird gang of misfits that is out of place even among the worst the Infinetentiary has to offer - they protect their own, like 8 Ball said, and that makes them  _ his _ people: it is more than most of the wimps back in his dimension would be willing to do for anyone, worried as they are about their precious  _ rules. _

Yeah, it was lucky for him that Pyronica took a shine on him right away, but hey - it just means she’s smarter than the average idiot in there. He’s a natural charmer and all; what’s there not to like? Sure, the ones he purposely ticks off don’t find him that charming and most of them would very much like to turn him into a wet spot on the floor, but it doesn’t really matter - if they try anything, the guys will be on them in a heartbeat. 

That’s how it works: they’ve got his back, and there is no doubt in his mind that they always will.

* * *

When he peeks into an alternate reality where he was able to bring Liam back, Bill expects his brother to be happy to see him, ecstatic to find he’s liberated their world, filled with gratitude and wonder and questions. He’s sure he’ll be. He takes it for  _ granted.  _

And when he’s proven wrong, it hurts too much to bear. It is like the day he was taken away, all over again, and he wants the sense of confusion and loss to end. 

So he ends it.

* * *

Over the billions and billions of years of his existence, many civilizations across galaxies view him as a god. It never fails to get a good laugh out of Bill, but hey, why shouldn’t they? He is all-powerful and all-seeing: he  _ is  _ a god, according to the most widespread definition of one. Many fear them, for good reason; many worship him, and many do both.

_ Of course _ they do. That’s what gods are for: to be feared and worshipped. No, he doesn’t mind. He doesn’t mind at all. And, before long, he takes it for granted. He takes it  _ all  _ for granted - the veneration, his power, the trust of his targets.

And, most of all, an ultimate victory that will never come.


	19. Liar

It started out a massacre, one of many.

There were attempts at fighting back against Bill’s rule every day, of course, which Bill was all too happy to personally put an end to. He was never worried, and why should he be? None of their kind - no, Kryptos thought, one of _his_ kind; whatever Bill was now, it wasn’t a Flatlander anymore - was capable of posing a threat to a being as powerful as Bill. They wouldn’t have stood a chance even if they all fought together, and that was something they would simply never do.

Polygons would refuse to work with Isosceles. Isosceles wouldn’t fight alongside women, all of them still despised Irregulars and so it went - ridiculous mindsets belonging to an old, dead world those people refused to just leave behind. As a result, all that Bill’s gang was facing were small, desperate groups of pathetically weak beings they could destroy in minutes. Except that Bill relished in doing so, so it always took more than mere minutes.

Kryptos wasn’t sure he would ever truly get used to all that screaming, but usually Bill’s laugh and the roar of flames were loud enough to cover them, and that time was no exception.

“Y-you monster! The Circles will stop you! They will come back and they-- AAAAGH!”

“HAHAHAHAHAHA! Oooh man, you’re so dumb it’s hilarious! The Circles are gone, didn’t you get the memo? I mean, sheesh! Pretty sure I said that loud and clear, right? Right, guys?”

“Yeah!”

“You did!”

“Loud and clear.”

“I have killed millions--”

“Paci, knock it off.”

Bill laughed again. “There, heard that? I’ve got witnesses that-- huh,” he muttered, trailing off and blinking down at the small pile of ash where the Octagon had been standing only moments before. He sighed, and let his gaze wander on the bodies, ruins and flames surrounding them. “Sheesh, these guys burn too quickly. Won’t even let me gloat properly before they’re toast.”

A grumbling noise came from Pyronica’s stomach, causing them all to snicker and her to shrug. “You said ‘toast’,” she said, and the snickering turned into roaring laughter.

If anybody noticed how forced Kryptos’ laugh was, they didn’t mention it. To be honest, it was still difficult for him to consider Bill's new friends his own, too. Not that they were not, well, _friendly_. They were, because apparently being described as an 'old friend' of Bill was all that it took for them to consider him one of their own, but sometimes it was hard to ignore how different they were from him - hardened criminals, all of them, and all of them with no qualms about using their potential for destruction at its fullest.

Sure, Kryptos had spent years in prison, but he wasn’t really a _criminal._ He had just wanted to know more of what was out there – that was his only crime. That, or the fact he was just too willing to follow Tad, as always. He had been the one to introduce him to the others, to first speak to him of the Third Dimension.

_And I have never even seen it. Nor has Tad._

The thought made him scowl, and whatever pity he had felt for the fallen rebels faded. It was hard to pity anyone while thinking of how Tad had died in their old world, without even seeing color outside the few splashes on the wall of Randall’s secret room. It felt awfully unfair - if only he hadn’t tried to escape, if only he hadn’t been caught, if only Kryptos had been able to talk him out of it, then… then…

_Then what?_

Kryptos closed his eye, thinking back of Randall’s horrified expression before being turned into stone. He didn’t approve the changes Bill had made to their world, had made as much clear, and had paid the ultimate price for that - much like those they had destroyed just now. And Tad… Tad would have been the same, probably.

_Bill is worse than even the Circles ever were! Kryptos, please--_

_You should have listened to him when you could have. Tad, too. He was wrong. You were wrong._

… Come to think of it, maybe it was for the best that he had died in their old world. He hated it, but would have hated this one just as much. He wouldn’t _get_ it, that was all. He’d punched Bill for much less, and doing so now would mean death for anyone who attempted. Except Pyronica, maybe, but--

There was a scraping sound somewhere on their right, and the laughter, which had started to die down into snickers again, immediately ended. They turned to the remains of a house, and Bill’s eye crinkled in amusement.

“Well well well _well,_ what have we got here?” he called out, and lifted his arms. The ruins were shrouded in blue flames for just one instant before disappearing - revealing someone who had been trying to hide among them, someone who cried out in terror and threw up his arms. “Aaaand we found Waldo!” Bill laughed, lifting his hand, ready to snap his fingers. “Let’s see how long it takes for this one to turn into--”

It was like a flip being switched: Bill suddenly trailed off and fell silent, the amused expression in his eye fading into a blankness so unexpected that it was almost terrifying. He remained still, hovering in mid-air, hand raised and gaze fixed on the form cowering before him - a form with six sides that was not quite a Hexagon, sides unequal and angles uneven.

_An Irregular._

In the surreal silence that followed for several moments, Kryptos snuck a glance at the others to see that they were all staring at Bill… all of them looking rather worried at the very least. And with good reason: Bill seemed to have forgotten all about the Irregular brother he’d had, but if he were to remember, who knew what could happen. There must have been a reason why he had willed himself to forget, after all. If his silence and stillness were of any indication, they may be just witnessing the calm before a storm.

And it wouldn’t be the kind of storm they’d like to witness, either.

A whimper finally broke through the silence, followed by a voice that sounded impossibly small - that of someone not yet out of childhood. But of course he wasn’t: he would have been terminated him already if he were any older by the time Bill took over.

“P-please, let me go,” the boy begged. He shook like a leaf, eye tightly shut and arms lifted up to shield himself. “I-I… I wasn’t with them! I was just hiding - they would have killed me if they found me! Please!”

“Pffft, sure. I say we just eat-- ow! OW!”

Kryptos ignored Teeth’s yelps when 8 Ball literally sat on him to keep him quiet, and looked back at Bill. He had lowered his arm, eye still blank… and, most worryingly of all, his body was starting to _glow_.

“Hey, Billy Boy!” Pyronica called out, her voice way too cheerful even by her standards. She took a step forward and grinned up at him. “How about we call it a day, huh? Let’s have a drink or two and… and… huh. That is new. Am I seeing things, or…?”

No one answered, but of course they all could see exactly what she was seeing: Bill’s whole surface had turned a blinding white, and images were flashing over him like projections on a screen. Some flashed through too quickly for Kryptos’ eye to follow, but there were some he recognized - a book, a door, an empty room.

_Liam’s book. Liam’s door. Liam’s room. Liam, Liam, Liam. He’s nowhere and yet he’s everywhere. You haven’t really forgotten, have you, Bill?_

Bill’s eye stayed blank, no expression showing at all, except that the pupil was turning blood red, his hands were clenching into fists and… and…

Kryptos’ own eye turned back to the Irregular boy, who was now staring up at Bill, frozen with fear, eye wide and tears still leaking out of it. He had to move, Kryptos knew, because Bill’s eye turning red could only mean one thing, and if he didn’t move now--!

_Not tired of losing case after case, Tad? All those Irregulars, and you can barely save any._

_I am not afraid of risking my life, Kryptos. But I am afraid of what could happen to the few Irregulars I can save if I'm no longer around to do it._

“KID! GET AWAY FROM THERE!”

He moved the same moment the scream left him, so in retrospect shouting had been kinda useless, but at the moment he had no time to think or act logically at all. All he could focus on was racing towards the kid, grabbing him and getting the hell out of the way before--

A drum-shattering shriek filled the world, and a beam of blinding light hit the spot where the kid had been moments before. The blast’s shockwave was powerful enough to case them both to be flung a good distance away, falling among the rubble. The boy’s angle pressed into one of his sides so hard that Kryptos thought it must have bent it out of shape, but the pain was quickly forgotten when the brightness faded, and he managed to look at the crater the beam had left… and then up towards Bill.

He was still lingering precisely where he had been before, arms and legs hanging limply. And his eye… what was wrong with his eye? The pupil was _gone,_ leaving nothing but gray, crackling static, but Kryptos couldn’t focus on it for too long: there was a movement against his side, and the boy sat up. Kryptos grabbed his arm to get his attention and glared at him.

“Get away. Quick,” he snapped, and let go. The Irregular didn’t need to be told twice, and ran off as fast as his legs could carry him, quickly vanishing among the ruins.

 _He won’t last another week,_ Kryptos thought, and he found he didn’t have enough strength to feel anything at the thought. All he could do was stand up, painfully, and… wait, what was Pyronica doing?

“C’mon, Billy Bob,” she was saying, a wide grin - too wide to be entirely believable - on her face. While the others kept their distance she had stepped closer to Bill and was reaching to take his hand. Bill didn’t move, and just lingered in the air like… like some kind of really weird-looking balloon while Pyronica pulled him lower, closer to the ground. She placed her hands on his sides and brought him to her same eye level. “Anybody home?”

The static in Bill’s eye abruptly turned white, leaving his eye entirely blank. Then, slowly, his pupil rolled down from his upper eyelid and returned to its place in the middle of the eyeball. Bill blinked twice, stared at her and, after a couple of moments, he frowned.

“... The heck just happened, guys?”

A moment of almost surreal silence was followed by a burst of words as just about everybody else began talking at once, falling over themselves to say that nothing much had happened, really, nothing out of the ordinary at all.

“... I mean, they were short work, you know?”

“Yeah, you set them on fire like whoa!”

“Shame they burn so quickly, huh?”

“No rebels left here, boss!”

“You just, uh… got really caught up in this, I think you forgot the time,” Pyronica said, grinned, letting go of him. “Time to party, as always!”

Bill blinked at her one more time, then he shrugged. “Yeah, sure. Hey, first one to get to the palace gets to lead the next rebel hunt and-- whoa! That was fast!” Bill laughed, watching as they all bolted off, with Hectorgon leading - something along the lines of ‘Hectorgon is Hector _gone_!’ could be heard being shouted - and the others not far behind. “They sure are eager to lead next time. Or maybe they just want to get away quickly, huh?” he added, and narrowed his eye, turning. “... Not going, Kryptos?”

Kryptos - who had been staring at the crater the beam had caused, thinking of just how _close_ he had been to being obliterated - recoiled. “I… uuuh…” he began, only to fall silent when Bill landed on the ground right next to him and glanced at the crater as well.

“Must have put up one heck of a show here,” he said lightly, then frowned. “There was some kid, right? Did he get away?”

_They took Liam away._

_An Irregular._

_He won’t last a week._

_Who the heck is Liam?_

“Naah. You got ‘im good,” Kryptos said, and tried to hover away, but Bill’s hand closed around his wrist like a steel trap.

“You’re a terrible liar, old pal,” he said, pupil moving sideways to stare at him. “ _You_ let him get away.”

_They let them take Liam away!_

“I…” Kryptos swallowed, and found himself unable to look at Bill in the eye. “I…”

There was a laugh, and Bill let go of his arm. “Sheesh, calm down! Nothing happened, right? You got outta the way on time,” he said, and lifted himself in the air. “All’s fine. Just _keep_ out of my way,” he added, and his eye narrowed for just a moment. “Consider it the _only_ rule in this world from now on. Get the drift?”

“... Yes.”

“Good boy,” Bill laughed, gestured for him to follow. “C’mon, get a move on. Bet the guys are already there,” he said taking off towards the palace without another word.

Kryptos followed without a word as well, because there was nowhere else he could go and nothing nothing he could dare saying - but it didn’t escape him how Bill hadn’t suggested, even for a moment, that they should go after the boy and finish the job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [''Says he's happy. He's a liar."](https://66.media.tumblr.com/f47cda64ffc403dfde326ddc544b6895/tumblr_messaging_oau66fQ3M11r7r84d_1280.jpg)  
>  \- Axolotl.
> 
> [''LIE UNTIL WHAT YOU WANT TO BE TRUE BECOMES TRUE. LIE UNTIL YOU CAN'T REMEMBER WHAT'S A LIE AND WHAT ISN'T. LIE UNTIL YOU AREN'T LYING ANYMORE."](www.reddit.com/r/gravityfalls/comments/315yoy/im_bill_cipher_i_know_lots_of_things_ask_me/cpyowrs/)  
> \- Bill Cipher.


	20. Irregular

After learning his first word - Liam, it was _his name_ of all things - Bill starts picking up new words so fast that sometimes it’s hard for Liam to keep up. _Ma_ and _Pa_ follow quickly enough, along with _Bee,_ which turns out to be an attempt at speaking his own name. Then it’s a constant stream of household items, the names of various shapes, a few words he picks up from their father or from Liam’s stories.

‘Why’ turns out to be a favorite of his, to be repeated over and over until he either gets the answers he’s looking for or somebody starts crying. Both of their parents are pretty amused when he starts shrieking ‘money’ and ‘no refunds’ as loudly as he can, but they never quite figure out why he starts doing the same with ‘kerfuffle’. Once they work out that it is actually a real word maybe they do suspect it may have been Liam’s doing - it was, in fact, a word in a story he had read to him after sneaking in his playpen - but never say anything about it.

Soon enough, he begins to string words together in sentences and, once he does, he never stops. He talks a _lot_ and, as time passes, it’s obvious that he’s good at it. Which is good, really, when your livelihood in going to depend on how good you are at selling - but there is something that’s missing from Bill’s growing vocabulary. Neither of their parents notices, or at least neither remarks on it, but it doesn’t escape Liam. It cannot possibly escape him.

By age five, Bill hasn’t said ‘Irregular’ even once.

* * *

“Why isn’t Liam coming with us?”

“He cannot come, sweetie. He... wouldn’t like it.”

“Well, _I_ don’t like these things. Can I stay home too?”

A sigh. “I am afraid not, Billy. You heard your father. This is an important client, and as he was so kind to invite us for dinner…”

“But dad complains about him all the time!”

Behind him, his father gives a noise that sounds much like a chuckle, straightening his tie. “Son, it is one of the main rules when it comes to selling. You never let the buyer know what you _really_ think about them.”

Bill logs the bit of advice in the back of his mind - he knows that’s what he’s supposed to do when his father speaks - and turns back to his mother. “Okay, but why isn’t Liam coming, too? He never comes anywhere with us,” he huffs, kicking his legs and glaring down at the bowtie he has yet to put on. It looks way too big for him anyway, and he’s worried it will make him trip. “Grownup things are boring without him. Why doesn’t he come with us anywhere?”

His question is met with silence, and his parents both look up from him and at each other. It lasts no more than a few moments and they don’t exchange a word - just that one look - but Bill can tell there is a lot to it. Finally, it is his father to break eye contact and look back at him, clearing his voice.

“You see, Bill, your brother is--”

“No,” his mother cuts him off, her voice somewhat strained. She seems scared, though Bill can’t begin to imagine of what. “Don’t. He’s too young.”

“He’s old enough to notice. And old enough to ask.”

“Norman--”

“You’d rather have him ask Liam directly?” his father cuts her off, and she falls silent before turning to leave the room. Bill hardly notices that: he’s staring up at his father, waiting for him to explain. And he does, sitting down on the bed next to him. “Have you ever wondered how come that we do not allow you and Liam to spend much time together? Not until your frame is set for good?”

Bill shakes his head. He knows he’s not allowed near Isosceles, because he came from them and they’re afraid he could turn into one by unconscious imitation - like devolve or something.

“But Liam is not an Isosceles, is he?” Bill asks. He cannot be one - his base is too wide - and in fact, his father immediately reassures him.

“No, he is not an Isosceles. But he’s not a Regular, either.”

“Regular?”

“Someone like you and me, with all the sides and angles matching,” his father explains, reaching to give a light tap on Bill’s upper angle. “All of our sides are equal. All of our angles are--”

“Sixty degrees!” Bill chimes him, glad to have a chance to show that he does know something, and Norman Cipher laughs.

“Precisely. This is how it should be - we are Equilateral. Liam is… not,” he adds, and something in his eye seems to grow duller. “His sides and angles do not match. You have noticed that, right?”

Of course he has, and he thinks it’s pretty funny how Liam leans on one side like that, but he never really thought anything of it. Now he’s starting to get the feeling it’s something more than a quirk he finds funny. “Hu-uh.”

“That makes him the opposite of a Regular - an Irregular.”

Bill blinks up at him. Irregular? He never heard of anything like it, because no one home ever said that word and anyway, Liam is _Liam._ And he’s an ‘Irregular’? Does he know? Why didn’t he tell him? Why didn’t their parents? It’s like they kept a secret from him and Bill doesn’t like secrets he’s not on to. “And why can’t he come with us?” he finally asks.

“... Most people do not take it kindly to seeing Irregulars. That’s why they rarely go out in public. They were are not supposed to… well. Sometimes mistakes happen, and--”

“Mistakes,” Bill repeats, cutting him off. He doesn’t like that word, doesn’t like it at all; something about the way his father spoke it makes him frown. “Liam is not a mistake.”

“I never said--”

“You did,” Bill cuts him off again, and this time his father falls silent for a few moments. Then, he sighs and rests a hand on Bill’s back.

“I do understand you’re upset. Liam is Irregular through no fault of his own. Perhaps the blame is mine. I was past my prime when he was born and perhaps…” he pauses, and looks away. “But whose fault it is matters little. He is an Irregular, and a deviation from the norm. _Norms_ are what define us as a society. Those like him are not welcome in this world.”

“That’s not true,” Bill snaps, and jerks away from his father’s touch. “I like him. If people don’t, then they’re stupid and--”

“Bill,” his father cuts him off, his voice just a little sharper, eye narrowing just a fraction. “The Laws of Nature are sanctioned by the Circles, and are not up for discuss--”

“The Laws are stupid! Nature is stupid! The _Circles_ are stupid!” Bill shrieks, throwing the crumpled bowtie he was supposed to wear against his father. It falls short by far - it is just fabric, after all - but Norman Cipher rears back all the same, eye widening as though he’s been struck. “And I’m not coming to that stupid dinner if Liam isn’t coming!”

 _“Bill!_ You must never say a such thing again!” his father snaps, and grabs his arm, yanking him closer and causing Bill to yelp. It hurts, but his father doesn’t slacken the grip at all and drags him right in front of his eye. He’s scowling now, fury looming behind it like a thunderstorm, and for a moment Bill is acutely aware of how much bigger than him he is, and how angry.

“Ow! Let go!”

_“Never, you hear me!”_

_“You said Liam was a mistake!”_

His father gives no sign of having heard him: he lets go of his arm, grabs him on both sides and shakes him. “People can get _locked away_ for much less outrageous claims, Bill! Locked away for life! If anyone heard you they’d think your mother and I are teaching you such blasphemies, or that you have a hidden Irregularity, or bot--”

“Well, maybe I DO!” Bill shrieks, and yanks free of his grasp again. “The Laws and Nature and the Circles are all _stupid,_ and I’ll say it again and again and again to everyone we meet if you take me out, so that they lock _you_ away!”

That is the last straw his father can take, and he stands suddenly, shaking with fury. “GO IN YOUR ROOM!” he thunders, but his voice is covered by the sound of the door slamming shut when Bill leaves to do just that before he’s even done speaking.

* * *

“Bill?”

“...”

“I know you’re in there. What have you done?” Liam asks, leaning against the door of Bill’s room. It must have been something serious for their parents to leave him home and lock him inside his bedroom: it’s something they have never done before. When they strode out their father looked livid, hands shaking as he pocketed the key, and their mother looked like she was about to cry.

“I told you he’s too young,” she said, her voice shaking, only to be silenced by a snort from her husband.

“If he cannot handle the truth, he shouldn’t be asking questions,” was all he said before slamming the front door shut behind them. That was odd to witness, it really was. They’ve never been that cross, not at Bill of all people. “... Billy?”

After a few moments of silence Bill finally speak, his voice muffled by the door but very close. He’s leaning against it himself, probably; Liam can just imagine him sitting on the floor, knees up to his chest. “They’re just stupid.”

“Stupid?” Liam asks, sitting with his back against the door to better hear Bill through it.

“This whole Irregular thing. You being stuck in here. It’s stupid.”

 _Irregular._ The word feels like a gust of cold air, because it’s the first time Bill has spoken it, and this is the first time he’s shown himself to be aware of the fact that something about Liam is not quite right. He’s always known that Bill would find out sooner or later, of course, but it still hurts. He looked up to him so much - will it change now?

“... Did mom and dad tell you about me?”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I… I was afraid you’d think less of me.”

There is a snort. “Oh, great. Now _you’re_ stupid, too,” Bill mutters, and something is wrong - his voice is too muffled, and somewhat broken up towards the end. It causes Liam to still, his own worries forgotten.

“Billy? Are you okay?”

There is a moment of silence, then he hears Bill standing up. “Can you… can you let me out?”

“Dad took the key away.”

“The kitchen key. It opens this door, too.”

“Oh,” Liam says, and stands up with some difficulties to rush at the kitchen and take the key. It fits into the lock of Bill’s room like a glove, and when Liam pushes the door open. Bill is standing before him and, as Liam feared, he’s wiping his eye. “Billy--” he starts, but he doesn’t get to say anything more, because the next moment Bill lowers his hands and scowls.

 _“Stupid!”_ he snaps, and gives Liam a shove that causes him to stumble back and land on his lower side. It hurts some, but he hardly notices: all he can focus on is Bill, the way he’s scowling down at him, fists clenched.

 _No,_ he thinks, and his vision is already blurring with tears he tries his hardest not to shed. _No, no, no, please, no._

“You should have told me! Why didn’t you tell me? Did you think I’d--”

 _“I’m sorry,”_ Liam blurts out, and he knows he’s lost his battle not to cry. He must sound pathetic and he doesn’t even care, because Bill is the only friend he has and he doesn’t know what he’ll do if even he turns his back to him. He reaches up to wipe his eye with the heel of his hand, still sitting on the floor. “I’m sorry. Please, _please,_ don’t hate me.”

Bill flinches back like he was just struck, the scowl fading in an instant to be replaced with something akin to shock. For a moment he just stares at Liam, eye wide and arms hanging limply, then he recoils and reaches up to furiously rub his eye. “Stupid,” he repeats, and the next moment he’s on the floor next to him, clinging to Liam’s arm. “I thought you were smart but you’re _so_ stupid.”

 _You’ve been saying that a lot,_ Liam thinks, and he’d probably say as much if his mind wasn’t entirely flooded with relief. He holds onto Bill, tight.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I was scared. Everyone else--”

“I’m not everyone else. Everyone else is stupid.”

“... I know. I should have known you’re better than tha--!”

_“That’s it!”_

Liam blinks, taken aback, when Bill pulls back and stares at him, eye wide. “I know what it is!”  
“What?”

“They’re jealous!”

“They’re what now?” Liam asks, blinking, and Bill huffs, crossing his arms. It’s clear he’s wondering how come he’s got to explain his brother absolutely _everything._

“Jealous, Brainiac. They’re all the same and you’re special, so that’s it. They don’t like that.”

Things are not quite like that, of course - they’re _nothing_ like that, really - but if that’s what Bill wants to think, then there’s no harm in letting him. Plus, it feels nice to hear it, to know his brother will sooner think him special than defective. “I… I suppose,” he says, standing up.

“Also, you’re _smart_. When you’re not being stupid like this, I mean,” Bill adds, and jumps up on his feet as well and grabbing his hand. He seems unable to contain his excitement now that he’s found an explanation that works for him. “Smarter than those dumb Circles. You’re gonna show them all and then your sizes not matching up won’t matter. They’ll all know your name.”

_Oh, Bill. If only._

“Will they now?” Liam says, trying his hardest to sound like he actually believes it. The thought of the Inspection lingers in the back of his mind, but he forces himself to ignore it.

“Sure. And dad’s gonna eat his hat.”

“We should take pictures when he does.”

“Yup. But first, a story. I’ll get the cookies from the kitchen.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be grounded?”

“So? They’ll never know. We have time before they get back.”

Liam sighs, and watches him trot down the hallway towards the kitchen. Bill is wrong, because their world is nothing like _he_ is, and the future just cannot be the way he envisions it to be. Still, it is a nice dream to have. Trying to believe it himself would only make reality worse, but there is no harm in letting Bill have it for--  
_a little more summer  
_ \--a little while longer.

Telling stories is what he does best, after all.


	21. Beyond

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick warning here - there’s attempted suicide in this one. Not out of despair or anything (more like a horrible mixture of child logic and _Bill_ logic), but it’s there and I figured it still warranted a warning.

“Where is Liam?”

Bill’s question cut through a moment of peaceful silence like a knife ripping through the fabric of a backdrop, revealing the chasm beneath - one they could ignore but never fill. The peaceful silence became icy stillness, and Melpomene found herself gripping the glass she had been cleaning so hard her fingers hurt.

Her husband’s voice broke the stillness, and she allowed relief to flood her. He would handle this. It would be all right. She needed not worry, needed not think. She resumed cleaning the glass, mechanically, and listened.

“Enough, Bill. You should know better by now.”

“I want to know--”

“You already know. He is gone. Leave it at that, and--”

“I know he’s dead,” Bill cut him off, his voice sharper than a child’s had any right to be, and Melpomene’s grip slipped. The glass fell, shattering at her feet, and she found herself staring down at the shards without seeing them.

_Dead._

He was, of course he was, but it was a word she did not want to hear. It she _had_ to think of her first child, it was better to think he was _gone._ It was a better word. It was cleaner, it didn’t carry the same sense of staggering finality. It felt less cruel, it was--

“I know they _killed_ him,” Bill spoke again. If not for her grief, she would have caught the vicious note in his voice, would have guessed he was doing that on purpose - but grief came, sudden and overwhelming, robbing her of all strength. She knelt next to the shards not to pick them up - although that was what she began doing - but because she felt her legs could no longer sustain her, and because keeping he eye fixed on the task at hand helped hiding the tears welling up in it and threatening to spill.

Behind her, her husband stayed silent for a moment before speaking. When he did his voice was tight, and cold. “Why are you asking, then?” he asked slowly. “You already know.”

“But where _is_ he now?” Bill insisted. “What happens after you’re dead?”

Another silence, one that seemed to stretch out for a long time. Melpomene closed her eye against tears, still kneeling over the broken glass, trying to ignore the way that word - _dead, dead, dead, dead_ \- seemed to echo in her mind. Then, finally, Norman spoke again.

“Nothing.”

“... Nothing?”

“You cease existing. That is all. You cannot be anywhere if you no longer exist.”

“But--”

“I will _not_ be discussing this with you again, Bill. He is no more. That’s all. Go in your room.”

Melpomene expected Bill to protest, to yell, but instead there were only a few moments of stubborn silence before she heard him stomping out of the room, and then the sound of a door being slammed shut.

It was then - only then - that she allowed herself to weep.

* * *

_There is something out there, something so much bigger than you or I could even imagine. A whole universe of possibilities, and some chosen can even visit it. The Circles are all too aware of it, but this knowledge is forbidden, as I'm certain you must have worked out by now. Whatever you decide to do with this knowledge is up to you. I can only urge you to be careful. And if you ever get a chance to see what I can only read of, promise me you'll take a good look for both of us. I always wished I could see the colors._

Bill closed his eye, trying - and failing - to imagine what color might actually look like. He was sure it had to be something beautiful. Liam had wished so much he could see them, and it would be just so _unfair_ if colors turned out to be a disappointment. Or maybe that wouldn’t matter, because Liam would never see them and that was unfair anyway.

_But what if he could?_

Bill opened his eye, reading once again the letter his brother had left behind for him, and scowled. Sure, their parents said he was just gone, but they could be wrong. They _had_ to be wrong: people couldn’t just stop existing, he refused to believe that was it. And besides, they knew nothing of the Third Dimension, so it seemed safe to assume they wouldn’t know of… of… wherever people _went_ when they died.

_What if the Third Dimension is it? What if he’s there?_

He liked that idea, he really did, because it felt so right. That was where Liam should be, because he had wanted to be there and it wouldn’t be _fair_ otherwise.

“Liam is in the Third Dimension,” he told his empty room. “He’s there and he’s seeing the _colors_ and the Sphere and everything else.”

The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea.

“He’s in the Third Dimension. That’s where he went. I’ll find him there.”

The more he thought about it the more he believed it, because he wanted it to be true. He wanted it so much it hurt.

* * *

Whatever she had gone into the kitchen for - maybe it was to fetch something, maybe to put something in the pantry, maybe to drink a glass of water - Melpomene wouldn’t remember. It would be a blur, something of no importance at all, because she forgot all about it the moment she stepped inside.

Seeing one’s child standing before the cutlery drawer, a knife in his hand pointed up towards his eye, is very likely to do that.

She’d remember screaming, she’d remember kneeling before him and snatching away the knife. She wouldn’t realize she had cut herself until later: all she could do was screaming and crying and choking out over her own words, clinging to her son and begging him to never, _ever_ do a such thing again.

“Why,” she managed to ask when she found the strength to pull back and look down at him through tears. “Oh Circles, why would you--”

“I want to find out where Liam went,” Bill said, scowling. “I want--”

“HE’S NOWHERE! HE’S GONE! WHY CAN’T YOU JUST LET HIM BE GONE?”

The scream left her before she even realized she had been _thinking_ those words, and by then it was too late. The child’s scowl turned into something akin to shock for a moment before returning, deeper than before, and somewhat darker.

“Like you did,” Bill said, trying to pull back, but her grip on his arm kept him from doing so. “You let them take him away.”

“I had no choice,” Melpomene pleaded. “Please, sweetheart. I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you. I--”

“I don’t _care_ what you’d do,” he snapped, and it was like a physical blow. She reared back, her grip on Bill’s arm slackening, and her son pulled free. Melpomene let her arm fall by her side, and could only stare ahead in silence, listening to Bill’s hurried steps as he left.

There was no broken glass before her now, but she felt something had shattered all the same, and she did not know how she could even begin to pick up the pieces.

* * *

“... So I was like, ‘Hey Al, what if I told you time is relative?’, and he said--”

Stanford took a sip of own tea and smiled faintly, noting with some amusement how no tea spilled from Bill’s own cup despite the fact he was gesturing broadly with the hand holding it. He had been amused by Bill’s tale of how he had led Einstein to his greatest theory, too, but as Bill kept talking about _time_ Ford couldn’t help but thinking back to his own words, not too long ago.

_From now until the end of time._

But it wasn’t true, was it? Ford’s own time was limited. A ridiculously short life span, and… and how many days like that one did he have left?

Many in his place would have thought it a futile worry for a man in the prime of his life, but no one else alive on Earth had been given the same glimpse of infinite Bill had granted him. When compared to an eternal being, for whom the existence of humanity itself was but a novelty, his own life span was nothing if pathetically short - hardly more than a blink.

The thought felt like a stab, and it had to show on his face, because Bill _noticed._

“And then Weirdo Hairdo was all, ‘But time is time!’, and I said that he sounded just like this dumb baby I know and-- whoa there,” he said, trailing off and frowning. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Ford said immediately, only for Bill to roll his eye and reach across the chessboard to flick his nose. Hard. A bit _too_ hard.

“Ow!”

“Seriously, IQ? For someone so smart, you’re having a lot of trouble getting it through your skull that you can’t possibly lie to me,” he said, and this time annoyance was plain in his voice.

“I… sorry,” Ford mumbled, looking away. There was a moment of silence, then Bill sighed and let go of his cup. It floated in mid-air next to him while he leaned back on the seat.

“C’mon, Fordsy. A negative twelve dollars bill for your thoughts,” Bill said, the image of the bill in question briefly flashing through his eye when Ford turned back to him. “What is it?”

“Is there anything after death?”

Bill blinked down at him for a couple of moments, clearly taken aback - then comprehension dawned in, and he burst out laughing. "Aaand there it is! The least original question ever! Kinda surprised you only asked now, Sixer. Most people who met me ask that almost right away. The _big_ question," he added, making quotation marks in the air with his fingers, as though to indicate it was no big question at all. That made Ford feel a little embarrassed, but not enough to keep himself from asking again.

“Do you have the answer?” he asked, causing Bill to roll his eye.

“Gee, seriously? Sure I do! All Seeing Eye and all, remember?”

“Then…?”

“Nothing.”

The reply was uncharacteristically sharp, and delivered so quickly that for a moment Ford wasn’t sure he had heard right. He blinked.

“... Nothing?” he repeated.

“Nope. I  have looked, smart guy, and couldn’t _see_ a thing,” Bill said. His pupil grew from a slit into a pool of darkness, taking over all of his eye until there was only blackness left. “So that means there isn’t anything. Nisba, nada, niet. Big fat zero. Death is the endgame.”

“Oh,” Ford said, feeling as though something cold had gripped his insides. It was an answer he had been prepared for, he supposed, but that didn’t make Bill’s answer - and thus reality, because he was not wrong, he _could not_ be wrong - feel any less harsh.

Bill blinked, his eye returning to normal as he did, and then gave him a look that Ford had learned to take as the closest Bill had to a smile. “Disappointing, I know. But I’ve got your back, you know - we have a deal, from now until the end of time. Stick with me, IQ, and you might never have to worry about the great beyond,” Bill said, then shrugged and leaned back on his seat again. A lazy gesture in the air, and his rook moved on the chessboard. “Your move.”

* * *

“Where the hell _are_ you, Stanford?”

Stan’s question was met with complete silence, of course, because that stupid portal _thing_ wouldn’t activate again, wouldn’t make a noise: it was just there, the empty gaping mouth that had swallowed his brother, sending him… where had it even sent him? What corner of the universe had he spat him in?

_It doesn’t matter. I’ll bring him back._

Stan scowled at the portal one more time before turning his attention back on the physics book he had been reading. Something tried to surface from the back of his mind, a nightmare he’d had several nights in a row - Stanford in some alien landscape, unable to breathe, clawing at his throat while his lips turned blue.

_You don’t even know if he’s alive._

_He is. He must be._

_You have no idea what’s beyond that portal._

_I don’t care. He’s there somewhere and I’ll bring him back._

_He’s gone._

“I won’t _let_ him stay gone,” Stanley snarled at the page before him, and he meant it. He refused to believe he may be dead, and he had no intention to give in, not now and not ever. His brother was somewhere out there, and he’d bring him back.

One way or another, he would bring him _home._

* * *

“... Hey, Frills.”

The Ancient turns when he feels something - someone - moving beneath his tail as Bill Cipher stirs. He’s not _truly_ awake, of course; they both are within his stone cage. But there are so many different kinds of slumber, and Cipher has just shed a layer of it - willingly - to speak to him. The Ancient supposes it’s some progress, at least.

“Yes?”

Rather than replying right away, Cipher sits up against Axolotl’s side. He - this projection of him - looks precisely as it did when he last returned to his delusion: a Flatlander child of a dull gray, small enough to sleep beneath his tail like under a blanket.

 _Dream of your brother,_ he had told him. _Dream of home. I'll be waiting._

_I’m never coming out._

_We shall see. Now sleep._

“Where _did_ he go?” the child finally asks, and there is no need for the Ancient to wonder who he’s talking about. There is only one person he’d ask about. One person he _cared_ about. “Where do they all go? I tried looking once. _Beyond,_ I mean, and I saw nothing. I thought that meant there _was_ nothing, but...”

 _But perhaps you were wrong,_ the Ancient think. Of course he doesn’t say as much, not with that wording. Cipher meets any insinuation of possibly being _wrong_ with anger and denial, and he’s had enough of both.

“But perhaps you simply _couldn’t_ see it?” he suggests instead.

The boy hums, eye fixed ahead, in the fog shrouding his mindscape. “Is that it? Is _there_ something? Is he there?”

The Ancient pauses for a moment. “I suppose you could say he’s in _here._ Isn’t that the reason why you don’t wish to leave your memories?”

“But _out_ of here…?”

There is a note in his voice that is unmistakably hopeful, and it is the first time since he’s come there that Cipher has shown any kind of interest at all on anything _outside_ his own mind. Still, there are rules even the Ancient must obey. There are things he cannot tell, but only _show._

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. But I cannot tell: if you wish to know, you must leave this illusion,” he says. He knows already what the outcome will be, what Cipher will choose when faced with the choice: return to his slumber, or face reality, and an answer he may not like.

“... And if he’s nowhere?”

“Then he’s nowhere, and you need to accept it.”

“No,” the boy snaps, glaring up at him with a stubborn frown. Behind his eye there is a flash of something dangerous and hardly in check, the Bill Cipher the multiverse has learned to loathe and fear. “No. I don’t. I won’t _let_ him be gone.”

 _Still not ready,_ the Ancient thinks, and nods, leaning his head back down. It doesn’t matter however long it takes: the wait doesn’t bother him. He has eternity at his disposal, and can be in any place - any universe, any dimension, any reality - he wishes to be at the same time.

“We stay, then.”

“I didn’t ask you to--”

“You invoked me.”

“... _Ugh._ Fine.”

The Ancient lets out a chuckle, and his tails curls around the boy once again. “Sleep.”

“Don’t you tell me what to do,” is the reply, but they’re empty words, because he’s already closing his eye, already sinking back into the deepest of slumbers.

* * *

“Liam? Liam!”

“Wha-- Bill! Lower your voice,” Liam’s voice came from the darkness next to him, still laced with sleep. “What is it?”

“... Nothing,” Bill said, and settled down. “Don’t go.”

There was a sigh, and Bill could easily imagine him rolling his eye in the dark. “Where would I _go_ in the middle of the night?” he huffed. Bill just laughed, latching onto his arm.

_Nowhere._


	22. Utopia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized that the last few chapters were seriusly depressing, so here’s something more light-hearted. For the most part.

“So, how much is it for this hat?”

“Eighteen secants.”

“Are you serious?”

“Hey, can’t part from that hat for less. I look dashing in it. We had some great moments together.”

The remark caused Nora to roll her eye and turn back to the mirror, adjusting the hat on the upper point right above her eye. It was lovely and she could easily afford it, but half the fun of going there was getting to haggle with Bill about the price. He was a tough one.

“I won’t _dare_ asking for details. How much is it really?”

“Fourteen secants.”

“How much for me?”

“Twenty.”

“You’ve _got_ to be kidding.”

Bill shrugged. “Unlike poor old me, you’re _rich._ Quit askin’ for discounts.”

Nora winced at his remark, and immediately looked across the shop to make sure no one had heard. Thankfully, it didn’t seem to be the case: there were a couple of people there, but they were at the far end of the shop.

That was good: one of the very few advantages of being female, and thus a Line, was that she was impossible to tell apart from other Lines. You could tell a man’s standing in society by the number of his sides, but a woman could pass off as someone of any class she wished unless she was asked to provide proof of identity, and she was bent on using that to her advantage.

A Line of her standing wouldn’t be able to go anywhere entirely unaccompanied. One of a lower class, however, could - and she wasn’t about to give up that little freedom she could carve out for herself because Bill couldn’t just shut up, she thought. She turned back to Bill, eye narrowed, and he threw up his arms.

“Whoa, okay, okay! Sheesh! Let’s make it, uh, seventeen? Just stop looking like you’re gonna stab be with--”

“It’s not about the hat,” she cut him off, and Bill blinked a couple of times at her before she could see realization sinking in.

“Oooh, gotcha. All right, then. Won’t slip up again,” he said, lowering his arms before lowering his voice as well. “You still ain’t getting a discou-- aw, c’mon! Seriously?” he groaned, his gaze moving away from her and to the window. Nora turned around to see someone - another Equilateral Triangle - crossing the street towards the entrance of Bill’s shop.

“Who’s that? Someone you owe money to?”

“Worse,” Bill said, and Nora turned to see that he had disappeared behind the counter. “When he gets in, tell him I’m not here. I’ll be back never.”

“This is your shop, I can’t just say you’re--”

“I was kidnapped. Minutes ago. Before your eye.”

Nora’s eye shifted to Bill’s top hat, still perfectly visible even as he crouched down. “Bill…”

“Look, you’re gettin’ that hat for free if you just handle this for me.”

“Bill--”

“Tell him it was a couple of Isosceles, dunno, big nasty brutes, you have no idea where they took me and--”

“Bill. Your hat is showing,” Nora said, and that was all she had the time to say before the shop’s front door opened and the Triangle stepped in, his gaze immediately finding the hat in question.

“Mr. Cipher,” he called out, and Nora could hear Bill groaning.

“Scram,” he told her under his breath before standing up and leaning on the counter, the very picture of ease itself. “Hey, hello. What do I owe the pleasure?” he asked, sounding all the world like he hadn’t been trying to hide from him and asked her to claim he had been kidnapped.

Nora was rather curious at that point: he’d seen Bill dealing with a fair share of clients from hell - she remembered one who had returned claiming he had seen the same item for less in another shop and had demanded to be refunded the difference, with the result of being laughed out of the door - but so far she had never seen him trying to _hide_ from one. For all the annoyance, he was good at his job: he liked selling, loved swindling and trading and bargaining.

This one, she decided, had to be a special brand of bad client. Lingering nearby to listen was tempting, really, but she decided she may as well go take a look at the pawning side of the shop: there were always a few interesting things there, and besides she’d have time to grill Bill over it later.

Who knew, maybe he’d even give up that hat to make her stop.

* * *

Bill Cipher was by no means a patient individual, but he could fake it pretty convincingly. He had to, because when you own a shop you’re supposed to _keep_ clients and not to throw them out on a daily basis. Plus, he was rather certain that murder was still kinda on the illegal side - not necessarily a problem, but odds were he’d be caught sooner or later, so it would probably be best not to start at all.

That said, good old Mr. Ephrail had been pushing him dangerously close, and it was with huge relief that Bill watched him leave, closing the door behind himself. With a sigh, he let himself drop eye-down on the counter.

_“Uuugh.”_

“... So. I take it that wasn’t about business?” he heard Nora speaking. He shut his eye tighter and groaned again.

“What are the chances you’ll end me now?”

“Tempting. On one hand, I get to keep the hat. On the other, I miss the fun of watching you squirm.”

“Have I told you before that I hate you?”

“Thrice this week. That would be the fourth. Do I win anything if I make it to ten? Like, say, the hat?”

“I _hate_ you.”

“I’m counting that. So I’m up to five.”

Bill groaned, and forced himself to sit up straight again. The store was empty aside from him and Nora now - a couple of people had bought some trinkets and left, and it had been the only respite he had gotten from Mr. Ephrail’s babbling. It looked like no one would come to save him now, so he’d either have to endure her or forcibly remove her.

And forcibly removing a Line was never a good idea, because their ends were _sharp._

“It was a kind of business suggestion I really couldn’t take,” he said, hoping against hope it would be enough.

It wasn’t.

“And can’t you just tell him that?”

“He’s one of my main suppliers. Good prices and all, so I’m kinda stuck with him. Not that you’d know about running a business,” Bill grumbled, rubbing his eye. “Can’t just go and offend him. Would like to, but no.”

Nora frowned. All right, she knew little to nothing about running a business, but she had never had merchants pegged as being that touchy. “What, he’d get offended over a rejected business suggestion? That’s--”

“The _suggestion_ is I marry his daughter.”

“... Ah.”

“And I’ll sooner tear my eye out. Can’t really mention that, though.”

“Is she _that_ bad?”

Bill shrugged. As far as he was concerned, what she was like was not the problem. He had issues with the ‘marriage’ part as a whole. “Beats me. Hardly ever seen her.”

“Oh, good. I was starting to get jealous here.”

“Yeah, exactly, and-- wait, wait, what?!” Bill found himself choking out, taking a step back, and she lasted precisely two seconds before laughing so hard she had to bend forward, wiping her eye.

“Hahahaha! I’m-- _pffft!_ I just-- that look! You looked like you were ready to bolt out!” she laughed again, gesturing towards the back door with the hand that still held the had she had been trying on.

“I was,” Bill snarled, and snatched the hat from her fingers. She seemed too busy trying to regain some composure to notice. “I _hate_ you.”

“Six,” Nora chortled, and finally stopped laughing. “I just… are you serious?”

“Nah, I just made it up because I _love_ giving you mocking material.”

“Didn’t think you’d be such hot-selling stuff.”

“Whoa there, what _are_ you implying?”

She rolled her eye. “You know what, fine. Enlighten me. What _is_ it that would make you the golden bachelor of the year?”

Bill glared. “First of all, I have impeccable style,” he informed her, reaching to straighten his bowtie out of habit. “And also a good business to run, perfectly regular sides, a place of my own. What _else_ do you think a merchant would look to get his daughter married to? Can’t aim for Squares or anything above, so it’s got to be other Triangles. I just so happen to be a perfect specimen.”

“Until you speak.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Bill huffed, crossing his arms. “Well, anyway. Can’t blame the ladies for wanting a piece of me...”

“It’s more like _one_ lady’s dad wanting a piece of your business.”

“... But - shut up - I’m not planning’ on tying the knot. Ever.”

“That, or you don’t know how to tie one. Is that why you don’t use a cravat like most grownups?” she asked, poking said bowtie.

“Oh, har har,” Bill said, rolling his eye.

“Tad wears a cravat,” she added, knowing fully it was a low blow. “Just saying.”

“I really hate you someti--”

“Seven!”

“Stop that! You’re still not getting that hat!” Bill snapped. Nora turned her eye into a mouth to stick her tongue out to him for a moment before blinking it back to normal.

“We’ll see about that. Beat you I’ll be wearing it for Esther’s wedding,” she challenged, causing Bill to snort.

“If you pay up, sure. Eighteen secants.”

“You wish.”

“Then you’re gonna lose that bet,” Bill said with a shrug. “Sheesh, they’d eat you alive at the Market.”

“... Seriously? I go to the market every week, genius.”

Oooh, right. She wouldn’t know it, would she? “Well, well,” he said, leaning on one elbow on the counter. “Well well well well well. The sheltered little girl has no idea.”

Nora narrowed her eye. “I’m older than you are,” she shot back, a petulant note to her voice.

“Pfft. By a couple of years.”

_“Three.”_

“Details. I make up for that with wordly experience,” Bill said, then shrugged. “But hey, if it makes you feel better, most people don’t know about that place. It’s the _other_ Market.”

Nora blinked at him in obvious confusion. “... What kind of place is it?”

“Oh, little bit of everything rolled in one,” Bill said, making a vague gesture with his hand. “The place to go if you want to drink good stuff, place a few bets if you’re feelin’ lucky, watch a couple of fun fights, trade the interesting and not strictly legal stuff and… and… huh. Your pupil ain’t usually that big, right?” he asked, and found himself having to lean back, because Nora was leaning forward, hands on the counter and eye a scant inch from his own.

No, he was pretty sure her pupil wasn’t supposed to be that big at all.

“Bill.”

“Yeah?”

“You’ll take me there.”

Well. Looking back, Bill really should have expected that to happen. “Well, I guess-- hey!” he yelped when Nora leaned closer, forcing him to step back and stumble into the chair behind the counter.

“That,” Nora said, “was _not_ a request.”

* * *

“So basically you told your dad you had some kinda pajama party with a friend and he didn’t question it.”

“He knows Talia well. She’ll cover for me tonight.”

“... In exchange for what?”

“Just telling her what it was like. You know, the thing about friends is that they don’t ask to be _paid_ for favors...”

“Does not compute.”

“... Unlike a certain someone who can’t even give me a discount.”

“It’s not that I can’t. I don’t _want_ to.”

“Charming.”

“I know, I know. Try not swooning too hard.”

“Circles, you’re irresistible,” Nora said drily, and kept following him through unfamiliar streets. Finally, they stopped in front of a building that looked everything like a warehouse - a huge one at that, and entirely quiet, no noise coming from inside. Nora frowned. “Is it the right place?”

“Yep. Did a great job with insulation, that’s all. I would know - provided the materials and all,” Bill said with a shrug, and reached up to knock twice, then paused a couple of seconds, and knocked twice more. For a few moments nothing happened, then the door opened to show another Triangle on the way - an Isosceles, with a very narrow base and a very, very sharp upper angle.

“Hey, Rod.”

“Bill,” the Isosceles greeted him, and his eye moved on Nora. “Friend of yours?”

“Yep,” Bill said, leaning on his cane. He was carrying an empty bag on his back, to fill up with anything interesting he may find in the Market. “Lookin’ to have a good time.”

Not much of a cover story, really, but Bill had told her that no one asked questions there, and he appeared to have been right: the Isosceles barely glanced at her again - Nora gave a small wave, just in case - before moving aside and gesturing for them to come inside. They walked in a small room, with no one else in sight but the Isosceles who had opened and with a door at the far end. Bill shot a look back to make sure the Isosceles had closed the main door, then he turned to her.

“Well, here we go,” he said, and opened the door.

Inside, it was _chaos._

Nora didn’t think she had ever heard so much noiser and seen so many different shapes in the _same place_ at the same time. There were _women,_ Lines like her, unaccompanied and loud and boldly so; plenty of Triangles, Equilateral and Isosceles alike, and then Squares and Pentagons, Hexagons and so forth; fewer of them the higher their class was, but still quite a handful of them, and for a moment she could have sworn she had caught a glimpse of a shape with at least twenty sides. Still far below her father’s status, but still so high that he would _never_ be expected to interact with Isosceles out of a strictly formal master-servant situation.

And the situation in there couldn’t possibly be _less_ formal than that. There was a long counter against one wall, where Isosceles, Lines and higher shapes sat elbow to elbow for a drink; at the far end there was a cage, where an Isosceles and a Line were fighting in what looked like a makeshift ring, various shapes around them cheering on and placing bets. Most of the place was occupied by stands filled with all kinds of objects, with people talking and shouting and bargaining all over the place.

“So, how do you like it?” Bill asked, raising his voice to be heard through the noise, and caused her to recoil. She turned back to him, and laughed.

“I love it,” she blurted out, and Bill’s eye crinkled with amusement.

“Well, knock yourself out, then. Will see what’s on offer and be back. And if you get in trouble--”

“You don’t know me.”

“Yep. Didn’t think I had mentioned that rule before.”

“I know you. Never had you pegged as the hero to the rescue.”

Bill didn’t even try to argue that point.

* * *

“Wanna know what I love about this place? No one asks questions,” Bill said, staggering to the table, and put down the bag, which now was filled to the brink with trinkets. Pretty good bounty for the night, and it would all be perfect to sell after a bit of work. “Here, take a look.”

Nora blinked down at the contents like she was having some trouble focusing on them, and the reason why were pretty obviously the empty glasses on the table she was sitting up. Bil had no doubt she’d been try to talk with as many people as possible while she could, and talk in that place was the kind of thing that was accompanied by a glass of strong stuff.

Not always _good_ stuff, but strong.

“Stolen goods?” she guessed.

“That’s such a harsh word. I prefer ‘cheaply acquired’,” Bill shrugged, sitting at the table and gesturing for the nearest waiter to get him the usual. “Cheaply acquired by _me,_ anyway. How the seller got ‘em is none of my business. Told you, no questions asked. Ain’t that the best thing?”

Nora shrugged, leaning back on her seat and taking another swig. “Nope. Best thing is…” she paused, making a vague gesture at the mixture of shapes around them. “This whole _thing._ It’s like some kind of… you know. Utopia.”

“Is it now?”

“Of course! It’s just as our world should be!” Nora snapped, slamming the glass down. “There was this lady who was telling me - hic - she comes here to sell things and make _her own_ money. No need of a father or husband to do that,” she added, and scowled. “Now that Esther is getting married, you can _bet_ our father will try to find a good _deal_ for me as well,” she added, a bitter note to her voice.

Oh, _there_ it was, Bill thought, reaching to take the glass the waiter was putting on the table in front of him. She had seemed a bit _too_ bent on mocking him over being hounded by another merchant to consider marriage to his daughter, come to think of it. Bill considered mocking her right back, but found he wasn’t in the mood. That, and Nora suddenly laughed.

“Hey, you know what the solution is?”

“What?”

“We marry each other.”

_“What?”_

This time, Nora’s laugh became a howl. “Hahaha! Just kidding, just kidding! Don’t bolt off,” she said, and shrugged when Bill sat back down. “Would have bright sides, though. No more marriage requests for you.”

“Your father would drop dead,” Bill said, relaxing just a bit once he could tell she wasn’t really threatening him.

“That’s the other bright side,” she said, and he laughed.

“Heh! Might be worth it,” he muttered, taking another swig. “Your father probably wouldn’t be the only one to drop dead, you know. Would be one hell of a scandal. I mean, there are some… how many classes apart are we? Ninety-something?”

Nora’s laugh turned into a scoff. “If this stupid world were _anything_ like in here, that crap wouldn't even be a problem,” she said, and gestured towards the counter, where  an Octagon and an Isosceles were having a drink and talking like old friends. Bill followed her gaze.

“... Yeah. Utopia and all, huh?” he muttered, and finished his drink in one swig before gesturing for someone to bring drinks for both and then letting his gaze wander through the Market. In the ring, another fight had started. Shapes of all sorts who had left all social conventions out of the door to just enjoy the evening. It had to seem ideal to her, but something was amiss, a harsh reminder that freedom was an illusion. Nora may not have noticed - may have not thought of it - but he had. He couldn’t _help_ but notice. “Hey, Nora. Take a look around. A good hard one. See anything missing?”

Nora turned, her eye scanning the whole place, and frowned. “Not really. What is it?”

“Do you see any Irregulars in here?”

He could see her stiffening, her eye wandering across the Market one more time, then she seemed to slump a little before turning back to him. “No,” she admitted.

Bill shrugged, and went to pick up one of the drinks a waiter left on the table. “The official explanation is that it’s risky. The Irregulars that are graciously _allowed_ to make it to adulthood are under police watch. They’d lead ‘em right to this place. Which, you probably guessed,” he added with a wide gesture to the stalls on their right, “is about a dozen different kinds of illegal.”

Nore frowned, and turned her eye back to him. “But that’s not all.”

“Nah. For all the _open-mindedness_ they like to brag about,” Bill said, making quote marks in the air, “they’re amazingly dense, the whole bunch of ‘em, and amazing liars. They just lie in here. Lie and lie and lie, but not hard enough to make it real. So they say that hey, they’d be okay with Irregulars sitting elbow to elbow with them, _shame_ it’s impossible. Not like anyone can prove otherwise, right?” he scoffed, and finished the drink in one gulp. “Then they walk outta here and slip back in the usual old rules, just how they like it. They have fun in here. Don’t really wanna change anything _out_ there. _Utopia_ ain’t in their plans.”

Nora stared at him for a few moments, as though at a loss for words, then she sighed and slumped in the chair, grabbing her glass. “Well. That is depressing,” she said, and was about to have another swig when someone - another Equilateral Triangle - suddenly bumped into her, spilling part of her drink.

“Hey! Watch where you’re going!”

“You were in my way, lady.”

“I was _sitting_ here!”

“Then move.”

“How about _you_ move!” Nora snapped, and stood before pushing him away. To Bill it was obvious that it wasn’t that guy her anger was really for, but he had just given her an excuse to vent and she had latched onto it. He could related to that.

If it wasn’t so entertaining, Bill could have almost felt bad for him and… nah, who was he kidding, _of course_ he wouldn’t have felt bad for him. As the argument began escalating and a small crowd to gather, it didn’t take long for the familiar chanting - ‘Fight! Fight! Fight!’ - to start.

“Shouldn’t you help her out?” Bill head the waiter asking, and shrugged, grabbing the still half-filled glass Nora had left on the table.

“Do I look like an idiot?” he asked, and emptied the glass before speaking again. Lines were sharper than any other shape and more dangerous even when they were _not_ a pissed off Nora. He wasn’t getting involved in any of that, no siree. Except for one way, maybe. “... I’m betting a hundred secants on her, by the way. Take note, will ya?”

* * *

“... And _for the record,_ I want half the money you won.”

“Dream on.”

“I _won_ it for you!” Nora grumbled, the pack of ice still pressed against her eye. She really, really hoped it wouldn’t bruise, because if it did there would be no hiding it and she’d need to make up an excuse for the next morning, like walking into a door at Talia’s place or something like it. Esther was better than her at coming up with excuses, really, so she should probably ask her for advice before their father saw her. “You owe me.”

“Unless we consider it a payment for the tour,” Bill said, and laughed when she took the ice pack off her eye just to glare at him. He was sprawled on an armchair in his living room, while she sat on the couch. “Gotta hand it to you, though - that was pretty great,” he added, and reached up to tip his hat. Or at least Nora assumed he wanted to tip his hat, because he missed the brim and just let his hand fall. “Fight like a woman. Heh. If my mother had been anything like _that,_ then maybe she’d have tried to stop--” he trailed off and went to rub his eye, and Nora felt suddenly cold.

_They let them take Liam away. Didn’t even try._

She had tried to defend them a couple of times, but it wasn’t easy. She knew she would _die_ before she allowed anybody to take her sister from her; how could she understand the mindset of someone who wouldn’t put up a fight for her own child?

They had no choice, she almost said, but did not. It was a comfortable lie, but nothing more than that: they had a choice, and chose to let go.

_Lie and lie and lie, but not hard enough to make it real._

“Anyway,” Bill said suddenly, before she could say anything, and stopped rubbing his eye. “The fight. Pretty great. Congrats, to… huh...” he mumbled, and blinked a few times. “... All three of you?”

_Oh, Circles._

“You’re drunk, aren’t you?”

“Naaah.”

“Completely hammered.”

 _“Naaaah,”_ Bill said, and slumped further into the armchair. “Perfectly fine. Just need some sleep,” he added, and shut his eye.

Nora had no idea whether he had really fallen asleep or was just pretending, but either way it worked for her, because her eye hurt and she found she didn’t feel like talking anymore, either. She rested down on the couch, keeping the ice pressed against her closed eyelid, and tried to sleep. It didn’t take her long, really. Bill wasn’t the only one to be hammered.

She was still sleeping in the morning when Bill woke up and left with to open his shop, taking with him the bag containing the goods he had bought the previous night. He did leave something behind, however - something Nora had been keeping her eye on for the whole week.

* * *

“You know, I could embroider a message on that for you.”

“Esther, please.”

_“I fought an underground boxing match, and all I got was this lousy hat.”_

“My eye hurts and you’re not helping.”

“Just be thankful it didn’t bruise. Good luck hiding that,” Esther muttered, and pushed the cup of tea in front of her before sitting down as well and glancing at the hat. “... Looks good on you, though.”

“Thanks,” Nora said, and paused to sip some tea. “I’m still going to ask for my share of the profits,” she clarified.

“I had no doubt,” Esther said drily, then, “I suppose this is the part where I tell you how reckless you were.”

Nora rolled her eye. “Yes, very reckless. I know the drill. Can we move on to the next part?”

Esther shrugged. “Sure,” she said, and leaned forward, her eye crinkling in amusement. “So. Tell me everything.”

For a moment, Nora hesitated. “Well, it was…”

_Utopia._

_Liars._

_See any Irregulars here?_

_Utopia ain’t in their plans._

“... Different,” she finally said. “It was different.”

At least, _that_ was not a lie.


	23. Erasure

Bill couldn't tell precisely when he began forgetting details about Liam, but he could pinpoint exactly the moment he realized it had happened: on his thirteenth birthday, after reading yet again the book that had changed everything, the one his brother could never read.

Over the years since Liam was taken he had read it more times than he could count, and it showed. The book’s spine was starting to come apart, and there were pages he had to put back in place with glue. He could close his eye and recite that whole thing by heart, but he didn’t want to lose one single page.

With a few exceptions.

_Let the advocates of a falsely called Philanthropy plead as they may for the abrogation of the Irregular Penal Laws, I for my part have never known an Irregular who was not also what Nature evidently intended him to be--a hypocrite, a misanthropist, and, up to the limits of his power, a perpetrator of all manner of mischief._

Bill scowled down at the page, his grip on the book tightening. And what would have Liam thought if he got a chance to read that book, after all? To see that even someone so enlightened - the apostle of the Third Dimension! - would look down to him like everyone else did?

“You never knew Liam,” he spat at the page. Of course he hadn’t: the one who had written those memoirs, a Square whose name had been lost, had died hundreds of years before. If he had ever met his brother, Bill told himself, he would have never written that crap about Irregulars.

Except that he would have, of course, like everyone else in that stupid world.

_Expediency therefore concurs with Nature in stamping the seal of its approval upon Regularity of conformation: nor has the Law been backward in seconding their efforts. "Irregularity of Figure" means with us the same as, or more than, a combination of moral obliquity and criminality with you, and is treated..._

With a scowl, Bill suddenly reached to tear off that stupid page and crumple it in his fist. Suddenly, he couldn’t bear the thought of what Liam would have felt if he ever got to read it. None of it was likely anything he hadn’t heard before, but to read it in that book - right as he dreamed of the Third Dimension, of someplace where his Irregularity simply wouldn’t matter - would have been just too unbearably cruel, bringing him back to reality with a crash.

It didn’t matter what Liam was like, how smart and kind and just plain better than any stupid Circle could ever hope to be - his shape wasn’t right, and nothing else mattered. No one but him could _see_ anything else. They would just see his mismatched sides and angles, how he’d lean on his left side… and… wait, did he lean on his left side or on the _right_ side? No, it was the left, it _had_ to be the left, wasn’t it?

_I don’t remember._

The realization made him feel like he had swallowed something very, very cold. He tried to remember, he really _tried,_ but he just wasn’t sure. Which one had been Liam’s shortest side? Which one the longest? How tall had he been? Taller than he was now? Shorter? About the same?

… What had his laugh sounded like?

_I can’t remember._

“No!” Bill screeched, and stood, the book falling on the ground. He shut his eyes, pressed both fists on it, and tried to recall all of it. He didn’t draw a complete blank because he _did_ remember Liam, of course, but the _details_ \- so many little things he hadn’t thought about in so long, little things that were nothing really important - just wouldn’t come to him.

What kind of gestures would he make while telling him a story? Which hand did he use? Did he use a bookmark, or did he just fold a corner of the page? Which book was it that he always kept on his bedside? His favorite dish?

Bill’s mind conjured images, but they felt fuzzy and distant, and he couldn’t tell for sure whether or not he was remembering right. One moment he could remember him leaning on the left side, but he could also remember the opposite and he couldn’t tell which was real and which was not. But how could it be? How could he forget?

_It’s been five years._

_No._

_You were eight._

_No!_

_Children forge--_

“NO!”

His shout was covered by a bang when he slammed the door open and bolted out of his room, not even bothering to close it, not even caring that the book, the one no one was supposed to ever read, was in plain sight on the floor. It didn’t matter anyway, because his father was at work and his stupid mother couldn’t even read, and she was… where _was_ she?

“MA!”

She was by the fireplace in the living room, putting a log in the fire, and turned when she heard his shriek. Her eye lit up when she spotted him.

“Your birthday cake is almost ready, honey. When you’re father comes back--”

“Where are the pictures?”

She trailed off and blinked at him. “Pictures?”

“Those of Liam. We used to have some,” Bill said. “Where are they?”

The confusion faded into something else, an anguished look that begged him not to go further, but Bill didn’t care. He never did.

_You let them take Liam away!_

“You still have them, right? I want to see them!” he demanded. He couldn’t have forgotten it all, not really. It was all still there somewhere, somewhere deep, and he couldn’t reach it - but maybe if he got something to jog this memory he’d remember, right?

_Right?_

His mother closed her eye for a moment before turning away. “... I don’t have them anymore.”

“You _threw_ them away? First Liam and _then_ what was left?”

She cringed, and that was all Bill needed to know that it was a lie, that those pictures still existed: they had to be somewhere, and she was keeping them all to herself. Keeping them from _him,_ like she had tried to keep him out of Liam’s room.

“You didn’t,” Bill pressed on, taking a step forward, and his mother backed away as though scared. “I want to see them!”

“I don’t have them anymore, Billy. I--”

“You said I’d get a birthday wish, didn’t you?” Bill shrieked, cutting her off. Something in his very core hurt, his vision was suddenly blurred and speaking took him a terrible effort. He reached up to wipe his eye with his free hand, the other one still clenched tightly on the crumpled page. “But I can’t have what I _want_ and you won’t even-- you can’t even do this _one thing_ for me, you stupid, useless…” he fell silent, unable to think of anything, any kind of insult that would convey everything he wanted to scream at her, and at his father, at the Circles and the rest of that stupid world.

“Billy...” his mother called out, her voice week, but didn’t get any further than that.

_“Bill,”_ he snapped, glaring up at her, and she recoiled as though struck. Her eye was wet with tears she struggle not to shed.

“You can’t keep hating me for the rest of your life.”

_Just for the rest of yours,_ Bill wanted to say, but what left him was something completely different. “What side did he lean on? I can’t remember. _Why can’t I remember?_ ” he shrieked and, without thinking, threw the crumpled page of the book into the fireplace with all the strength he could manage. The old paper landed in the middle of the fire and flared brightly, but he didn’t get to watch it turning to ashes: his mother was on him the next moment, and pulled him close. It wouldn’t be the last time Melpomene embraced her surviving child.

It _would_ be the last time he returned the embrace.

She used to kneel to hug him, Bill remembered, but not anymore. He was too tall now. He was growing quickly. Another couple of years, and he’d be Liam’s same age. One more, and he’d be older than his brother ever got to be.

How long before he forgot even _more_ about him?

“I want a picture,” he heard himself saying, his voice all broken up. It was a demand - he _meant_ it as a demand - but it sounded nothing like one.

Still, it was enough: Bill had left his room with a crumpled page in his hand, and returned holding a photograph - one he was very careful not to crumple, not even a bit. It was already a bit ruined, like some water had dripped on it, but it was still good: Liam was in it and Bill could look all he wanted, get every detail memorized again.

It was not enough, because some things just wouldn’t quite come back and a picture couldn’t remind him what Liam’s laugh had exactly sounded like, but it was a start. He began regularly thinking back of all he could remember of his brother - small things and quirks that had seemed so unimportant before - and writing it all down, in a conscious effort to cling to everything he could still recall. They had taken his brother and there was no way he’d let anything, even _time,_ take even more away from him.

Until the day remembering hurt worse than forgetting, and he erased what had been left.


	24. Dear Esther

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _“I was the grass. Pleasant, complaisant, sweet-smelling, swaying with every breeze. Who fears to walk upon the grass? But it is the grass that hides the viper from his enemies and shelters him until he strikes.”_  
>  \-- Doran Martell, _A Feast for Crows._

 Nora had no memory of her mother. She had passed away too early; whether the Line she vaguely remembered tucking her in bed was her or one of the attendants who had come after her, there was not telling.

Lines like them looked all the same, anyway.

“They say there was some hidden Irregularity about her…”

“Do they?”

“Well, no one is sure, but she took ill so easily and died so quickly after Miss Elenorah was born, one has to wonder…”

“The master must be so upset! What is she passed it on to their daughters? And one wouldn’t be able to tell until it’s too late...”

Hidden away from their sight, Nora listened intently to everything the house staff had to say when they thought no one was there to listen. They were just rumors, of course, but they weren’t entirely senseless. Wasn’t that the reason why her father had started teaching her and Esther how to read and most of all mathematics, after all? To ensure that exercise in thought and logic would straighten out any possible hidden Irregularity, and result with Regular children down the line?

Not that Nora wanted to have children one day, but her father didn’t know that, and was always pleased by her progress. “It will be our secret,” he’d tell his daughters with a quick wink, and Nora liked that. It was fun, being let on on secrets without having to hide away to hear them.

Not that the two things were in any way comparable. Mathematics was plain truth and logic, the language of the universe. It wouldn’t lie to her: if she knew the rules, applied them and followed them down to their logical conclusion, she would have the correct answer. It was simple as that.

The servants’ gossip, fun as it was to listen, was far less reliable - some of their claims so outlandish she almost wanted to believe them: there was something being whispered about an older brother she had never known who had been born Irregular and was hidden away in a secret room in the house, so that no one would know about him.

She had found no secret room, though, and no hidden brother. A shame, that: she was sure he would have been more fun to have around than Esther was.

“Don’t slouch, Nora. You’ll bend if you keep doing that. Sit upright.”

Nora glared down at the page, refusing to stop her calculations, and purposely slouched even more.

“Nora.”

“Shut up. This is difficult.”

“I’m certain you can think just fine while sitting upright.”

“Don’t wanna.”

“You’re a lady. Act like it.”

Oh, for Circle’s _sake._ Nora tore her eye away from the equation to turn it into a mouth a blow her sister a raspberry. Esther met it with a sigh.

“You’re being childish.”

“I’m twelve. _You’re_ the old lady,” she pointed out, trying to put as much disdain in the word as she could manage. Esther was sixteen, really, which of course meant she was still young, but she didn’t act like it at all. All she did was look and sound pretty; when their father had guests at home Nora would try to stay out of the way as much as possible, while Esther would go and listen to them, laugh at the stupid things they said and bat her eyelashes. She was like that with their father, too - pretty and obedient and not much else.

And it was _stupid,_ because most of those people weren’t even as clever as her. She was good at maths and had probably read more books than any of them, but she acted like she couldn’t even count on her fingers. Of course they had to, because they were not supposed to know - it was their _secret_ \- but she overdid it so much. It was pathetic.

Maybe she didn’t really care about knowing things, after all. Maybe she only learned them because their father wanted them to, so that she’d have a perfectly regular baby someday. That was all that she wanted and it was boring, but whatever. It was her problem.

If she thought she could make her become like her, then she was very much mistaken.

* * *

“Nora, be quiet.”

“But they’re wrong! I just studied--”

_“Quiet.”_

Esther’s voice had a sharp edge to it that caused Nora to fall quiet, although it didn’t keep her from glaring up at her sister. “I was just saying--”

“You speak too much,” Esther cut her off. “Stop making a spectacle out of yourself. You should know better. A lady doesn’t presume to correct a gentleman, let alone in public. If you think you know something, keep it to yourself. Or do you want our father to have to explain his peers how come his daughter knows things she shouldn’t?”

The last sentence struck a nerve, and caused Nora’s retort to fade before she could even utter it. She crossed her arms and looked away, frowning.

“Do you, Elenorah.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Answer to me.”

“... No.”

There was  a long sigh before Esther spoke again. “Very well. I’ll consider this incident closed, as long as there are no others. If you can’t muster the good grace to be polite to our father’s guests, you’re excused to your quarters. I’ll have someone bring you dinner--”

“I’m not hungry,” Nora snapped. “You can have them. Stand there and laugh and think pretty things,” she added, and turned to stomp away. Her sister did nothing to stop her, to ask her to stay.

She never did.

* * *

When Esther turned nineteen, their father decided that she needed no further education; he was clearly satisfied with her intellect - he must have thought it would be enough to ensure no Irregularities - and that would be it.

Had it been Nora to be told as much, she would have raged, demanded to keep learning more because she liked it, she was good at it, and it wasn’t far that she’d have to give it up. But Esther was quiet, Esther was weak, Esther just accepted all of that without even trying to argue, as she accepted their father’s request.

“You wouldn’t mind teaching Elenorah yourself until she’s reached your same level, would you?”

“I’d be happy to, father.”

Her father’s almost undivided attention had been one of the things Nora had enjoyed the most about those secretive lessons, and now that had been taken just like that. It took away some of her enjoyment, but of course it was not enough to keep her from wanting to learn more and more: the fact alone she was not supposed to was enough to make her wish it more than anything.

She’d be better than Esther ever was. Better at it than even their father. She’d show him. She’d show them all.

Years passed, and Nora kept advancing. Esther was ever the social butterfly - all shiny-eyed and pretty to look at, stroking ego and feigning ignorance - and Nora sometimes found herself wondering how could they actually be sisters, and whether the rumors may be true. Maybe she did have some hidden Irregularity, and her sister did not.

She could think of no other explanation.

* * *

“Esther?”

“Mmh?”

“What was our mother like?”

A pause, a pen lingering a scant inch from the paper. Then it came down again, leaving trail of black ink in the whiteness. “I don’t remember much. I was little, too.”

“But you remember something, right?”

Another pause, then, “She was proper.”

“Proper?”

“A proper lady, that is. She knew her place.”  
“Her place,” Nora found herself repeating, and scowled. “Look pretty, keep quiet and marry well.”

“And have Regular children. As she did.”

“ _Did_ she?”

Nora had expected to take her sister aback, maybe make her wince, but much to her disappointment she didn’t even look up at her. “You’ve been listening to baseless gossip, I see. It’s beneath you.”

“But if it were true--”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? It would make you think you’re different. Special,” Esther cut her off, and Nora recoiled. When her sister’s gaze met hers, it was steady as a rock. Showing nothing. “You really are childish.”

Nora bristled. She was the one who thought of nothing but being pleasant and proper, and now she was the childish one? “I don’t want to be just like every other Line that--”

“You understand nothing of the privilege--”

“It’s a cage!”

“It is an armor,” Esther shot back, and for the second time in the space of a minute Nora fell silent, not knowing what to retort to that. For a moment - only a moment - Esther’s steady gaze faltered something else, something that seemed to burn. Then it was gone, making Nora wonder if she had imagined it. Then, slowly, her sister tore a page from her notebook, closed it, and stood.

“What we have comes with a cost. There are codes to follow,” she said, walking up to Nora’s chair. She hated how she towered over her, but refused to stand up and just glared up at her. “Rules to learn and master.”

“So we can marry well?” she asked with a scoff, only to blink when, with a sudden movement, Esther slapped something down on the table: the piece of paper she had torn out of her notebook.

“So you can _break_ them,” she said.

That was so unexpected that, for several moments, Nora could only stare. When she found enough voice to speak, it didn’t sound like her own. “But… you always say I have to accept--”

“Were you not listening?” Esther asked, her voice cold. “I only ever told you to _know_ them. Now,” she added, “since you’re so _above_ me, get to work. Come back and talk to me about this once you’ve solved the equation. I trust that, by then, you’ll have learned to act properly for your position. And convincingly. Think of them as acting lessons, if you will.”

She left without another word, and Nora followed her with her gaze, too stunned for words.

Then the door closed behind her sister, and Nora’s eye shifted back to the page she had slapped down on the table, only to widen when she saw what was written on it. It was an equation, as Esther had said, but what made her speechless was the realization it was far more complex and advanced than anything Nora had ever attempted to solve: to be honest, it looked nearly impossible to crack.

And that could only possibly mean one thing - that Esther had never dropped her mathematical studies, after all. For all that time, she’d been advancing without telling her or their father a single word. Esther was far ahead of her, and had been pretending to have fallen behind for all that time. But why? She could get hiding it from their father, but why would she hide it from her?

_Come back and talk to me about this once you’ve solved the equation._

Nora scowled, and reached for her pen. It didn’t matter how hard it was, she would solve it and _then_ demand an explanation. She’d sooner lose her sleep over it than crawl to her sister, admit she couldn’t solve it and _beg_ to know what she had meant.

All she needed to do was knowing the rules, and following them down to their logical conclusion.

_Codes to follow. Rules to learn and master._

_So you can break them._

* * *

_Look pretty. Act like a lady. Be demure. Bat your eyelashes. Pretend you’re impressed. Pretend you don’t know any better._

The rules, as Esther called them, weren’t difficult to learn. Learning to act accordingly, however, was hard.

So was the equation: Esther was four years older than her and at least as many years ahead when it came to her studies - which meant Nora had a lot of ground to cover before she could solve the equation. She doubled the efforts to advance quickly, to absorb as much knowledge as possible in as little time as she could, and for all the months it took Esther said nothing of it.

She said nothing about the equation, either, and at the same time she met her efforts to convincingly learn how to ‘act like a lady’ with a sort of indifferent approval.

_Keep quiet. Don’t speak unless spoken to. Be polite. Never argue. Think pretty things._

If Nora slipped up, as it sometimes happened - when frustration got the better of her, when anger threatened to raise its head - she’d be quick and merciless to point it out.

“Temper, Nora,” she’d tell her, and looked at her in the eye, gaze piercing and lingering for a moment more than it would have been necessary. “There are rules to learn.”

_So you can break them._

Esther’s own mask did not slip up again; it never did, Nora suspected, unless her sister wanted it to. She never once broke character again and now, having glimpsed beneath the surface, Nora found she could respect that. She itched to ask, but she did not. Esther had told her to bring it up again when she solved the equation, and solve it she would.

* * *

“I’ve got it!”

Nora burst into Esther’s room without knocking, which would have gained her a rather sharp reprimand under normal circumstances, but nothing about those circumstances was normal, so she didn’t care… and neither did Esther.

She stayed quiet when Nora slapped her notebook down on the desk, the equation so long she had needed several pages to write down in its entirety. She just took the notebook and began reading the equation in silence, eye moving back and forth on the pages. Nora just stood there, trying to chase away the doubt that she may have gotten itwrong after all.

_No, I haven’t. I’m sure it’s right. I checked a million times._

Finally, after what felt like a year, Esther turned her eye to the last page. She stared at it for several moments, going through each and every of Nora’s calculations, and finally stared down at the result. Then, slowly, she closed the notebook and put it down on her desk.

“Very well. Close the door.”

Nora did so right away, slamming it shut before turning back to her sister, questions leaving her like water breaking past a dam. “What is this all about? What are you up to? How long has this been going o--”

“Manners, Nora,” Esther cut her off sharply, causing her to recoil. “A lady doesn’t throw questions around like confetti.”

… Seriously? Even now? Nora stared at her, speechless, and Esther held her gaze for a moment before lowering her eye, her frame shaking as if… as if…

“Wha-- hey! Hey! Stop laughing! You’re not funny!”

Esther ignored for the best part of a minute, unable to suppress the very unlady-like laughter leaving her, so very different from the quiet chuckle Nora had always heard from her. That, too, was a surprise. How much of herself had Esther hidden from her, for how long, and why?

“What was all of this about?” Nora finally asked when her sister stopped laughing and reached up to wipe a tear of mirth from her eye. “Just… what is going on?”

Her laughter finally fading, Esther looked down at the notebook only for one moment before turning her gaze back on her. “What you have just solved,” she finally said, “is the key equation to the Theory of Light.”

In the months that it had taken her to solve the equation, Nora had guessed that it had to be something forbidden. What she hadn’t expected to hear was that it was something _that_ forbidden: being caught trying to study the origin of light had been a crime for thousands of years, the kind that meant imprisonment for higher classes and death for lower ones.

“You studied the Theory of Light?”

“That, and more,” Esther said, then, “it should be obvious that nothing of what I’m about to tell you is to ever be revealed to anybody else. Once I’m done, whether or not you want to know more is up to you. I have a pretty good guess of what your answer will be. But, either way,” her sister paused, and stared at her straight in the eye. “It will be your choice.”

* * *

Her choice was obvious, and precisely the one Esther had anticipated. Of course she wanted to know more. Of course she wanted to know of the Third Dimension. If that made her predictable, she didn’t care: she’d had a glimpse at a possibility beyond her wildest dreams, that of other worlds outside their own, and she needed to know more.

The wait for her first meeting with the _group_ her sister had mentioned - the people she had been meeting while claiming she could go to the theater monthly - was agonizing. The answers she got to all of her questions once she met them all were mind-blowing but, once she digested it all, she found herself longing for more. Questions brought answers that brought forth more questions; the weeks-long wait between meeting was excruciating, even with Esther to talk to meanwhile, and not showing how restless she was became harder and harder.

“How could you do this?” Nora asked one day, during one of their lessons and after a quick glance to make sure their father was nowhere nearby to listen. “Whole years without telling anybody!”

Esther gave her a clearly amused glance. “Self-control, Nora. Something a _lady_ should have in spades.”

“All that talk about being a proper lady--”

“You needed to learn self-control. I’m not going to say you’re perfect at it yet, but there _has_ been an improvement.”

Nora snorted, crossing her arms. “You could have told me what it was all about!”

“Watching your squirm was too amusing.”

“I’m serious! You could have told me--”

“And put you in danger of getting yourself in trouble in case you went and snapped without thinking first?” Esther countered, a slightly more serious edge back in her voice. “Not on my watch. Learn the rules before breaking them. Turn the cage into your armor and _then_ you may use knowledge as a weapon.”

Any further complaint Nora might have had faded, as always when she thought about the implications of what her sister had pulled: years of silence, years of pretending, years of bearing her obvious disdain for no other reason but her safety. How many bratty retorts had she endured? How many times had she wanted to tell her everything and hadn’t, with her safety in mind?

“... I must have been a pain,” she finally found herself saying, and Esther shrugged.

“You’re my little sister. I’d say it’s in your job description,” she said, and this time they did share a - dignified - laugh.

It was the closest Nora had ever felt to her sister until then, and she found she had missed that, if it’s possible to miss something that you didn’t have before. And it last for years. Few years.

Too few.

* * *

Esther’s marriage was a blow, but nothing they couldn’t overcome.

It had to be done, Esther had explained, as practical as ever. She had come of age, and refusing all suitors might draw unwanted attention on her. Their father wasn’t getting any younger, and was eager to see at least one of them wed.

“It might give you a few more years of freedom before he expects you to do the same,” she had joked before turning serious again. “Besides, he’s in a good position. He has a vast library I’ll have access to. With you still in father’s home, we can cover more ground. And we’ll always have our monthly evening at the theater,” she had added, and her eye had crinkled with amusement once again. “I wouldn’t miss those for the world.”

And she hadn’t. She was there for every single meeting even after her wedding. She was there when Bill snapped. She was there when the confrontation with Tad turned violent.

She was there, and sided with Tad. Like Randall, like Pentos, like C-C-Croatoan.

Unlike her.

* * *

“He has a point, you know.”

“Of course he does. But that’s also all he has. A point, no plan and not self-control.”

“If we don’t take risks--”

“I’ll take risks when it’s for a purpose, Nora. Not before. Not out of anger and nothing else. That would be too reckless.”

“... Maybe you’re being too cautious.”

“I won’t put my family in danger for nothing.”

Nora fell silent for a moment, her eye flickering towards the photographs on the small coffee table between them: those of two very young Polygons. Esther’s children, both of them perfectly regular, both of them adorable little boys.

Nora supposed she could understand where she was coming from; she had two children to protect like she had protected her once. But it was still difficult, so very difficult, for her to truly get behind that mindset - and, the more she attended the other meetings at Bill’s place, the more she felt that wedge between them grow. Esther felt it, too; their words towards each other became just a little colder, just a little sharper when disagreeing. In the end, they had an argument and Nora stormed out of her house, too furious to try keeping herself in check and listen.

She would never get a chance to hear from her sister again.

* * *

When they came for her, Nora knew they would come for her sister and her children as well, if they hadn’t already.

Later, when she gained the power to look far into the future and past, she would know that not only Esther had already been taken, but that she had been forced to give her name and that of the others’ with the promise her children would be spared. They wouldn’t be, and Esther had to know that their chances were slim, but she still talked because it was the only chance. No amount of self-discipline could be enough for her _not_ to try.

Still unaware of the details, Nora’s first instinct as she left behind her burning home and her father’s body, the coordinates she had worked so hard to pinpoint clenched in her fis,  was to go find Esther’s family and take them all with her, to the Third Dimension; anything to keep them from falling in the Circles’ hands.

But she didn’t, because she knew it would have likely been suicide. She couldn’t give in to impulses, not now that it all depended on her. She had to be in control. Forget what she wanted to do, and focus on what she _had_ to do. No going back, and she was being hunted down. She had to pass on the coordinates on to the one who already knew what they were all about, the one with the most chances of getting there.

Bill. If anybody had a chance to get at the entrance point before the Circles caught him, it was Bill. She would pass the coordinates to him, and then she’d be done. She’d give herself time to grieve.

And then she’d burn.

* * *

The flames came and went.

She had never expected to live on, much less in a different form, and certainly not for a trillion years. She had never expected to see her world destroyed by the very person she had trusted to see it, to see the horrors he’d fill that void with. The horrors he had always been meant to bring forth, with the power _she_ allowed him to gain.

It had simply made _sense,_ given the situation, to hand the coordinates to Bill, and yet it had all gone so wrong. He was supposed to find help for their dimension; never she would have imagined that, in the Third Dimension, he would gain enough power to destroy it.

_Know the rules so you can break them._

She had, but had failed to take Bill into account. She knew all of the rules, but she didn’t know _him_ nearly as well as she had thought she did.

Bill Cipher knew no bounds. He knew no rules. His action could not be predicted, the consequences unfathomable - or almost. She had eyes that could see, now, and time to observe. She would learn to know him, so she could _break_ him.

She had learned from the best, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“For a week, as I recovered, we had many long conversations about Bill. Apparently, his thirst for power caused him to destroy his home dimension - including his parents and everyone he'd ever known. She spoke of him without anger, but with a calm, steely, clinical resolve to see his reign end…”_  
>  \-- Stanford Pines, _Journal 3._


	25. The Waiting Hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're nearing the end of this series, and the next chapter I'll post will be the last. This got longer than expected - longer than Flat Dreams itself did, really. Hope the ending won't disappoint and, until we get to it, I hope you like this chapter as well.

In the Nightmare Realm, time has meant nothing since the day Bill Cipher decided to stop it.

“Can’t have my favorite gang of misfits growing old and dying while I’m still around, right?” he had said, and that had been it. Ever since then, time has stood still: it doesn’t flow as it should, and it hasn’t for a trillion years. Ot at least, Bill _said_ it was a trillion years, and they figured he would know. If anyone could keep track of time even as it stood still for them all, it was Bill.

But now he’s _gone_ and they don’t even know how long it’s been.

“Do you guys think he’s _really_ gone?”

Kryptos’ question is sudden, but not entirely unexpected. Well, it’s unexpected from him, because he’s usually not the kind to speak up first, but they all knew _someone_ would ask aloud, eventually. It’s what they’ve all been wondering since… bwuh. However long it has been since they’ve been sealed back into the Nightmare Realm, which can’t have been that long ago, or so Pyronica assumes. Without Bill, it’s hard to tell.

“Of course not,” she blurts out, and ignores the glances the others give her, the way they shift and turn away. Kryptos is the only one to keep staring at her, clearly hoping for her to convince him of what she just said. “He’s made of pure energy, isn’t he? And remember what he told Time Baby when he tried to destroy him?”

“You don’t get to destroy energy,” Keyhole mutters, and turns back to her. He seems just a little less grim than before. “Good point. Whatever they did, they can’t have _destroyed_ him.”

“But why hasn’t he come back, then?”

“Why wasn’t he sucked back in here with us?”

“Where _is_ he?”

They have lots of questions and absolutely no answers. That would have never happened with Bill around, because he had answers to everything. If Bill were there, then… then they wouldn’t even need to ask that question to begin with, would they? If he were there, like he was supposed to be--

Somewhere in the distance, something screeches.

Not too long ago - how long? - it wouldn’t have made them even turn, but now it’s enough to make them all flinch, and Teeth’s… _teeth_ to start chattering. Noises like that, screams and howls and cries, are commonplace in that domain: twisted creatures in a world of chaos. Except that now even chaos is different, because Bill is no longer there to control it. Come to think of it, their world wasn’t _truly_ chaos before, because chaos means nobody is in control. But Bill was. There was _some_ order in that chaos, and it was his will.

_Not anymore._

“... Didn’t sound too close,” 8-Ball grunts, and they all breathe a little more easily, a few wary eyes still turned to the window opening in the wall of Bill’s palace, showing the rest of the realm down below. Pyronica feels Xanthar inching closer to her, and puts a hand on his side.

“We can take care of ‘em if needed,” Paci-Fire finally mutters. “I slaughtered millions--”

“Yeah, yeah. We know the drill.”

For a trillion and more years, it hasn’t mattered what monstrous creatures of all shapes and sizes found their way in or were created in their world: none of them, none at all, would dare attack them. It would mean attacking Bill, and a such thing would have been suicide. They feared him, each and every one of them, and that fear had kept them all safe, never having to worry about anything. Things would destroy and absorb and devour each other all the time, but none of it would touch them. None of it threatened them.

_But now he’s gone. And we’re still here._

* * *

There is a place in Bill’s fortress where he could always be found, whether or not he was really there - the chambers where he’d leave his body behind, encased in stone, when he entered the Mindscape. He could stay away for long stretches of time, and many seemed to believe that destroying it would mean destroying Bill as well. It wasn’t true, but it hadn’t kept some from trying in the early days of his reign.

_"You know you don't even need to guard me, right? I can recreate my physical form any moment when I come back here."_

_"Hey, doesn't sit well with me and the guys to just let someone waltz in and destroy it. Gotta look after each other. Like in prison, remember?_

_“Have you forgotten the part where I got near infinite power and junk?”_

_"We miss you while you're off, you doofus."_

_"Of course you do. I don't know what I'd do without me, either."_

Except that now there is no stone statue left behind. If there is any, it isn’t there. Or at least it wasn’t last time Pyronica checked - but she still goes to take a look, from time to time. Just in case, she thinks, and pushes the door open to see… wait, what…?

_“Bill?”_

But of course it’s not him, and that much becomes clear when the ‘Bill’ yelps and scrambles back towards the window - causing the ever-changing lights of the decaying world outside to show his features.

Kryptos.

“... Hey. Thought it was someone else,” Pyronica says, a bit awkwardly, and Kryptos gives a small shrug, followed by an embarrassed laugh.

“Afraid not. Just me,” he says, then glances at the spot where, once, Bill’s physical form stood while he was away. “Heh. Can you believe that before… all of this, I’d have been expected to get really offended?”

“Oh?”

“I’m a Square. Bill was - _is_ \- a Triangle. Below me. It was reaaaally bad form, mistaking a shape for a lesser one.”

“Huh. Sounds like I wouldn’t have made many friends here. I was always terrible at geometry. But I guess the part where I helped kill most of ‘em ruined my chances anyway.”

The laugh they share is brief, but does sound more sincere than the one Kryptos forced out before. Without thinking, because she never thinks much over anything, Pyronica sits on the couch she and Bill would usually settle on for a drink. Except that there is no drink no, no Martini made to appear out of thin air.

No Bill.

_Sheesh, just admit it’s a bartender you missed!_

“Do you ever miss your old world?” Kryptos asks, gaze wandering everywhere across the room except on her, and Pyronica finds herself thinking about it for a few moments before replying.

“I’d been moving across dimensions since I was able to walk and my mama was out of prison. I don’t even remember it all that well. This has been my dimension for way longer, anyway,” she adds, gesturing towards the window and the chaos beyond. “It’s been a trillion years. My old world is gone by now and hey, I was banished anyway. Most of us were. We stuck together in prison, there was no going back, so it only made sense to stick together out of it. One of us getting godly powers was a nice extra, though,” she adds, and pauses for a moment to stare at Kryptos. He’s saying nothing, hovering before the window and looking out of it. It occurs to her that, out of all of them, he and Amorphous Shape are only ones who had never seen another dimension but this one until their short-lived visit to… Gravity Falls, wasn’t it?

“... What about you? Do you ever miss the way things were before?”

“No, no,” Kryptos says quickly, then avoids her glance when she raises her eyebrow. “I mean… not the way it was. It was terrible. I missed a few things and people, and first. But it’s been so long now. I guess it’s just kinda weird to think I’m the last Flatlander left.”

It takes her a couple of moments to realize why the statement doesn’t sit right with her - but once she does, it makes her scowl. “You talk like he’s gone. He’s _not_ gone,” she snaps, standing up from the couch and causing Kryptos to wince and lift his arms.

“Wait, I-- I didn’t mean it like that! It’s just… it didn’t feel like he was a Flatlander anymore. He was something _else,_ wasn’t it? Like… I don’t know. Not really sure what he _was,_ but he wasn’t one of our kind anymo--”

“Quit talking about him like he’s a thing of the past!” Pyronica growls, and lights up her hands without thinking, causing him to trail off and yelp.

“Sorry! I’m sorry!” Kryptos blurts out, arms still raised. “I didn’t mean to-- it doesn’t matter anyway, right? I mean, time is kinda standing still, so…”

_Wait._

Pyronica ignores whatever Kryptos is saying and turns to look at the clock on the wall - one whose face and arms are made out of an _actual_ face and _actual_ arms, a clock Bill mounted personally on the wall just so that he could look at it and claim it was time for a drink. It was meant to be a joke, because that clock’s arms hadn’t moved one inch since its creation...

… And are still not moving. Time _is_ standing still, because Bill stopped its flow. If he were gone - truly _gone,_ in all dimensions and realities, then… shouldn’t that have been undone even _there,_ in his dimension of origin? Shouldn’t time be flowing again?

_But it isn’t. Time is still dead here._

“Ha. Hah. Hahahahahahahahahaha!”

“Uuuh… ‘Ronica? You okay? Should I- whoa!”

Pyronica just laughs again, squeezing him tight and dragging him into a twirl. She used to do that to Bill, too, and his protests were a whole lot louder than Kryptos’ feeble ones. “It’s just - hah! - we’ve been worrying for _nothing!_ Bill’s gonna have a good laugh when he finds out!”

“... Huh?”

_Can’t have my favorite gang of misfits growing old and dying while I’m still around, right?_

Pyronica gives him a toothy grin, and even fights back the urge to chew him up just a little to show how happy she is. “Don’t you get it? The guys were right. He _can’t_ be gone, because time is still dead. We’re still around, and so is he. So sit down, buddy,” she adds, dropping him down on the couch. “He’s out there somewhere and he’ll find his way back. All we gotta do is hold the fort and _wait_.”

* * *

Across reality, someplace that is in all dimensions and yet in none of them, something stirs. It is not time, not yet.

But it will be.

_Sleep._

_Wait._


	26. Timeless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I'm not good with words," said the journalist who also happens to write fanfiction on her spare time. But I'm gonna try anyway.  
> When I began writing Flat Dreams almost a year ago, I was pretty much clueless. Not only I wouldn't have expected in a million years it would become so well-loved, but I charged my way into it as I go with most of my long fics: full of ideas and with very little in mind when it came to, you know, the actual plot. In a way, I figured out precisely where the story went along with the readers, as I wrote.
> 
> Or, at least, I figured out _some_ of the story. There was plenty I didn't know about Bill before I thought up a backstory and there is plenty I don't know even now. What really happened to Bill after the finale? We have no idea. What happens to him after this fic is over? Beats me.  
>  If you're hoping for an actual ending, with answers to everything that has been brought up throughout the story, I am afraid I'll have to disappoint you guys. Gravity Falls left a lot about Bill up in the air and so will I, because there is nothing else that feels quite right for him. Fun as it was to think up and explain Bill's beginnings, I could never quite imagine him having an ending and I can't write what I can't imagine. The way I see it, I'm not ending a story. I'm just done telling the part I felt I could. 
> 
> Last but not least, I'd like to thank all of you guys. The people I annoyed to death sharing idea after idea at the most random of times (you know who you are); the people who used their talent for amazing art, fics, fanmixes and more based this; everyone who left a comment, or a kudo, or a like, or just have been reading this. Some of you may not have even realized they gave me ideas and inspiration that ended up shaping much of Flat Dreams and everything that followed.  
> So, thank you, to all of you. 
> 
> Now scram, nothing to see here and I've got something in my eye.

_“Sometimes I like to pretend things could have gone differently. That none of this would have happened had Liam Cipher never been taken.”_

_“But it would have. Your dimension was doomed regardless the moment Bill Cipher came into existence. No matter the circumstances, no matter the reality or timeline. One way or another, he’d have come to hate it. And what he hates, he destroys.”_

_“Countless realities, and not one where Bill Cipher never came into existence.”_

_“Not a single one. He was always meant to be. In a way, he existed before he took form in the Second Dimension. Chaos is timeless.”_

* * *

Where they are now, time stands still.

It is not so in the rest of the Multiverse, with the only exception of the Nightmare Realm. Much like Cipher, time cannot be destroyed. Neither can Time Baby, whose molecules will come back together a thousand years after being disassembled; he will be in a sour mood when that happens, the Ancient assumes, and will certainly make his displeasure known. Time Baby was always prone to tantrums, and it is one common ground he and Cipher have, come to think of it: neither of them has ever done an awful lot of growing up.

_A very powerful child, still thinking he could win at chess by eating the chess pieces._

Resting down in the non-existing floor of a ravaged Mindscape, the Axolotl glances down at the tiny gray form nestled in the crook of his elbow - his yellow glow gone, leaving behind just the boy that has been. The All Seeing Eye remains closed to all that Bill Cipher doesn’t wish to see, the mind that could contain the secrets of the Multiverse now confined to the four walls of a tiny bedroom, in a dimension long gone, where he can dream up what could never be.

_LIE UNTIL WHAT YOU WANT TO BE TRUE BECOMES TRUE. LIE UNTIL YOU CAN'T REMEMBER WHAT'S A LIE AND WHAT ISN'T. LIE UNTIL YOU AREN'T LYING ANYMORE._

_Says he’s happy. He’s a liar._

The All Seeing Eye may be closed, but the Ancient’s own are wide open. He knows truth from lie, no matter how vehemently Cipher tried to claim otherwise, only… well. If time meant anything there, he could say it wasn’t too long ago.

_"I liked it there! I liked home! They ruined everything - nothing would have happened if they hadn't taken Liam away!"_

The Ancient stares down at Cipher for a few moments, then closes his eyes and lets another eye, hidden from sight, open to show him whether there’s any truth in it, whether different realities would have had different outcomes. He has looked before; he knows the answer. But, with Cipher being hardly of any company at all, there’s no harm in another glimpse.

And the first other reality he sees is one where a mother chose to maim her son rather than parting from him.

* * *

_They won’t have him._

It is the only thought in Mephis’ mind when she lifts one of her husband’s working tools and brings it down on the child. In those few moments, she seems unable to think of anything but just that - that _they will not have her son._

His scream when she hits him is terrible, even more so than the crunching noise when the tender lower side gives in and _shortens._ It is what she wanted, and relief overrides any other thought for a moment, before the enormity of what she has just done sinks in, before she hears - truly _hears_ \- her son’s agonizing screams.

“Oh, no. Oh, Circles, what have I done?” Mephis chokes out, the grip slackening on the handle of the wrench. It clatters loudly on the floor, but she doesn’t hear it: her child’s cries drown out all other noise. She spends the rest of the day weeping and trying to quiet him down, but nothing seems to calm him, and his screams eventually die down due to nothing but exhaustion.

He cries again when she dares put him down, with great braying whoops, eye swimming with tears and arms reaching up for her, so that she’ll pick him up, relieve the pain of his weight pressing down on the damaged side. She hurt him horribly, mutilated him, took away everything he could have been, and he reaches up for her for comfort.

Somehow, that tears at her heart in a way even his screams could not.

Lou probably guessed, he must have, but never questions it. He never brings it up, and neither does she. Their son is Isosceles, and he will remain with them. He’ll be loved and cherished like no other, because he is the only child they will ever have: should she have another, and should it be Equilateral as well, she knows she would never find the courage to go through it all again. Or, at least, that is what she tells herself: the truth is that she doesn’t want her child to have to share her attention with anyone else.

To keep him, she has taken a better future for him; there is nothing she can do to make up for it, if that is even possible, is to give him all the love she has to give.

And yet all of her love will not be enough. In this reality, Bill Cipher grows an Isosceles. He never has a brother nor he ever loses one, but his lot in life makes him bitter. He longs for more. He teaches himself how to read. And, as a manual labourer, he has sometimes access to wealthy people’s houses. To their libraries. In the end, the information that matters makes its way to him.

In the end, he reaches the Third Dimension. He gains power.

And the Second Dimension burns to ashes.

* * *

There is a reality where Bill Cipher was the Irregular one.

It does not differ much from the first: not quite irregular enough to be terminated, he’s allowed to live with all the limitations of his kind - closely watched by police, given a state job for a miserable stipend. His birth family, for no one would adopt an Irregular, does love him dearly, but it’s not enough. It can never be enough for someone who _hungers_ the way he does.

He never accepts his lot in life. He grows angry. He grows bitter. Eventually he goes into hiding, aided by well-meaning dissidents. It takes him longer than it does in other realities, but eventually he does find his way to the Third Dimension and cheat his way to power.

His dimension is reduced, yet again, to cold dead embers.

* * *

The same thing that will happen in any reality - any at all - in which Liam Cipher lives to see his brother’s true colors.

There is one reality where the Board was merciful, where two votes make the difference and the boy is allowed to live on. Bill Cipher returns home with a wrapped-up book - a surprise - to be surprised in turn. It takes him several minutes to finally get someone to speak to him: they’re all weeping, his mother and father clinging to Liam in a way he’s never seen either of them doing, and his brother seems too shocked for words.

“See? I told you!” is all Bill Cipher eventually says once filled in, not at all surprised. He’s always known his brother would pass the Inspection because really, what idiot wouldn’t want someone so clever to stay among them? How could their parents not know that was the only possible outcome? He laughs at Liam’s relief, hands him the book, and thinks nothing of it.

Liam reads the book, but he then hides it away and shares nothing with his brother. He may live, which is staggering, but this means constant surveillance on him as an adult, as well as a low-paying and tedious work. He cannot take risks, he thinks - the fact alone he can live is a gift, and he can’t put his family in danger by being greedy, by wanting more. He accepts his lot in life, and lets his childhood dreams remain childhood dreams.

But Bill does not. When he finds the book, he demands answers and there is nothing Liam can do to sway him; the sinking realization of how miserable his brother’s life is set to be makes him all the more bitter.

“This isn’t fair! What’s the point in living if this is all that there is to it?”

Liam lies, he tries to tell him that it is all right, that he’s happy with what he has.

“You’re a terrible liar,” Bill snaps at him, and keeps reading on. He keeps learning, he grows more restless and, in the end, he succeeds. As in all other realities, he breaches into the dimension he longs for, to grasp power he never before dreamed of.

As in all other realities, he takes his anger on his own dimension. Each time, Liam attempts to stop him. Each time, the events unfold the same way in a cruel echo.

"I'd have preferred to die without seeing any of this! I'd have preferred to go without knowing what kind of monster you'd become!"

"Look, now you're startin to get on my-"

"I would have never left any of my books behind if I had known this would happen! This should not have happened!"

"Shut up."

"YOU SHOULD NOT HAVE HAPPENED!"

"I SAID SHUT UP!"

There is no pain, in those realities; only one last moment of terror, a terrible heat, and then nothing. Liam never gets to hear the scream that always, always follows.

“No! No no no no NO! Come back! I didn't mean to! I DIDN'T MEAN TO!"

He does not come back. Bill Cipher wills himself to forget about him.

And keeps on burning, until the day his flames turn against him. That, too, is something that happens in all realities. Like his birth, like his rise to power, it is a fixed moment in time and space that simply must happen.

But it is not the end. Bill Cipher _cannot_ have an end.

* * *

When the Ancient closes his _other_ eye, and opens the ones on the outside, nothing seems to have changed. Fog is all around them, nothing visible except for the small door behind him. It is ironic, he supposes: the things Bill Cipher wished to erase are now his consciousness’ refuge, the only place where he wishes to be in this stasis of is.

_Just a little more summer._

Mabel Pines needed all of the help she could get before she could burst her bubble. Cipher will also need far, _far_ more time, but it is for the best. Should he leave his stasis too early, the Multiverse may suffer the consequences for eons to come. He cannot be forced out of this.

The Ancient _could_ have done so, once, when Cipher asked one question.

_“Where did he go? Where do they all go?”_

_Where is Liam?_

A straight answer would have been enough, but he couldn’t do it: it simply wasn’t wise, to let that bubble shatter before it was the right time for Bill to awaken. He had given him a choice, of course, fully knowing what he’d choose.

_“I suppose you could say he’s in here. Isn’t that the reason why you don’t wish to leave your memories?”_

_“But out of here…?”_

_“Perhaps. Perhaps not. But I cannot tell: if you wish to know, you must leave this illusion.”_

_“... And if he’s nowhere?”_

_“Then he’s nowhere, and you need to accept it.”_

_“No. I don’t. I won’t let him be gone.”_

… _Oh, Billy. This was always beyond your control._

There is a movement against his paw, and the Axolotl glances down to see Cipher shifting in his slumber. “Liam?” he mumbles, his eye still tightly shut, and the Ancient leans his head down on him like a shield. A tiny black hand closes around one of his frills.

“Sleep,” he says. “I am here.”

* * *

There is a ripple.

It is weak and lost to most, but not to the Oracle, never to her: she knows what it means and she’s been in wait for too long to miss it.

Across reality, someplace that is in all dimensions and yet in none of them, Bill Cipher has stirred. He did not awaken; that will not happen for millennia to come. But stir he did, and the cracks in his bubble have grown another fraction.

The day will come when it shatters, in a future shrouded in mist that she could never look upon, never predict - until this moment. Now Bill Cipher stirs, the fog is lifted, and that future is there for her to look upon.

Jheselbraum the Unswerving opens her eyes to the infinite, and gazes into the abyss.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Two Brothers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7249534) by [TangoOrangeQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TangoOrangeQueen/pseuds/TangoOrangeQueen)
  * [Family Dinner](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11777535) by [Haley3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haley3/pseuds/Haley3)
  * [Beyond](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13645167) by [Haley3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haley3/pseuds/Haley3)




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